


Reclamations

by ms_katonic



Series: Cicero Dragonborn [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, BDSM, Bisexuality, Companions, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Dragonborn DLC, Drama, F/F, F/M, Female Character In Command, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:50:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 159,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_katonic/pseuds/ms_katonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cicero Dragonborn's life is going well - he has his beautiful Listener, his dear sister Eola, a functioning Dark Brotherhood and a father who accepts him even if he doesn't entirely approve.  Right up until another Dragonborn appears, one who's had centuries to master the Thu'um and amass a following, and who wants to wipe out the competition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. From Out of Nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, the third instalment in the Cicero Dragonborn series, set around the Dragonborn DLC, and in a Skyrim post Main Quest and Dark Brotherhood questline and about halfway through the Companions questline (ie. just after the Silver Hand).
> 
> The first two instalments are With A Dragonborn Like This and All Skyrim's Foes - please read those first or this story will make no sense whatsoever.
> 
> In this chapter - a new threat appears from out of nowhere, and everyone Cicero's ever called friend is a potential target. Warnings for blood and character death - Miraak's cultists don't mess about.

“Isn't it lovely?” Cicero cooed as Delphine admired her new outfit in the mirror. “Do you like it, my Listener?”

“You made this?” Delphine could only stare at it, wondering just how much this had cost. Black leather armour in the same style as her other set, but with added dragonscale and Shrouded Enchantments. A worthy counterpart to Cicero's own special armour. She had no idea how Cicero had managed to keep its construction hidden, although he'd been acting secretive for a while, doing dungeon runs and contracts and dragonslaying and keeping the proceeds, not handing the bulk of it over as he usually did. Clearly this was what he'd been planning.

“Yes!” Cicero giggled. “Wait. No. Cicero found all the materials and took them to nice Eorlund at the Skyforge, gave him your measurements and a large amount of gold for his time and asked him to make some armour. Then Cicero bought some black soul gems off the Thieves Guild along with a few he'd found in various ruins, asked Eola to help him fill them, and paid Calcelmo a suitably large amount of gold plus some Dwemer Centurion cores to enchant the finished armour. What do you think? Is my sweetling pleased?”

“It's... it's lovely,” Delphine breathed. “You went to all that trouble for me? You shouldn't have, my old leather set's got Shrouded enchantments on it that Sapphire did, and my Blades armour's pretty good.”

“Cicero wanted to,” Cicero purred, slipping his arms around her. “Cicero had not forgotten it was your birthday today. 17Th of Last Seed, born under the Warrior.”

“Serpent, actually,” Delphine admitted. “Not something I tell people, but now you know. Most blessed and most cursed.”

“Not cursed as far as I can see,” Cicero murmured, nibbling her neck. “The Night Mother made you her Listener. There is no higher honour.”

Delphine smiled, closing her eyes and leaning back in her husband's arms. It wasn't a bad life she had, all told. 

“You've been listening to Lucien again,” she told him. Cicero laughed.

“Lucien is right in this,” Cicero murmured. “Also, it is not just your birthday. It is a year since the dragons returned. Since Cicero became Dragonborn. Since... since he met you.” He turned her around, stroking her face, staring intently at her. “A whole year, and you have changed poor Cicero's life. Of course Cicero wished you to have something special. How else is he supposed to repay you, hmm?”

“You're my husband, you don't owe me a thing,” Delphine said, putting her arms around his shoulders. “Thank you. It's gorgeous.”

Cicero pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed. “It is no trouble,” he sighed. “You hardly ever wear your Blades armour these days because you prefer not to attract unwelcome Thalmor attention. And Cicero will not have the Listener walking around in armour befitting a common mercenary, no. You deserve better, so better you will have, yes?”

“You're so lovely,” Delphine whispered, pulling him in for a kiss. “Come here, husband.”

“Dearest wife,” Cicero murmured, smiling as she kissed him. Next came unlacing of the motley, and after that... an early night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“For Namira!” Eola shouted, blasting the necromancer in the face with fire. On the other side of the cave, Aela's arrows found his back, and seconds later he was lying face down on the cavern floor, dead.

Eola sheathed Dawnbreaker, looking for the other werewolf. Aela had already started going through the dead mage's things, laughing in triumph as she raised an ancient carved thigh bone in her hands.

“Is that it?” Eola asked. “The last one?”

“Yes!” Aela laughed. “Yes, this is it, we found it!” She staggered to her feet, clutching the bone to her chest before putting it away and turning to Eola. “Thank you. I'm no weakling, but I think I would have found that mage challenging on my own.”

“You're quite welcome,” Eola grinned, still catching her breath from the fight. She wouldn't be able to feed on the mage with Aela around, sadly. But they had all three Totems of Hircine now, and Eola was going to have to use Beast Form to get to Markarth for her Temple duty anyway, she could always feed on the way home. No point going back to Sanctuary, not given it was nearly midnight. Even if it was Delphine's birthday. She'd be all right, Cicero would take care of her, and Eola could spoil her tomorrow night. “So, that's the last one, is it? Does that mean we're all square now?”

Aela hesitated, and Eola looked up. Surely not, surely the damn weregild was paid now, right? What more did Aela want?

To Eola's surprise, Aela actually looked a bit sad. “We're square, yes. You don't owe me anything. But... I've enjoyed hunting with you. If you want to... I mean, you don't have to, but... if you wanted to hunt with me again some time...”

Eola couldn't repress a smile. “What happened to me not being allowed to hunt in your territory?”

Aela stared at her feet, scuffing the floor with her boot. “That was different. You weren't pack then.”

“I'm still not a Companion,” Eola pointed out. “Chances of me getting allowed in are fairly minimal, given you all know what I do for a living.”

“No, but you have the blood and you're talented,” said Aela. “Also you're the only one who gets it, the only one who appreciates it. Don't get me wrong, I don't condone murder. But if you want to hunt beasts or other lawful prey with me or in my tundra without me... I'd like that. It's nice to have company now and then.”

“It is that,” said Eola, smiling. While hunting with Aela wouldn't be quite the no holds barred bloodfest hunting with Cicero usually turned out to be, and certainly was unlikely to end in frantic and noisy sex while their prey cooled behind them, the simple fact remained that Cicero wasn't a werewolf, wasn't going to become one and just couldn't keep up with her in beast form. Some company for her wolf would be nice. “All right, next time you come across some nasty dark mages or some lowlife scum the world is better off without... you let me know, I'll come give you a hand.”

“I will,” Aela promised. “I meant what I said about the Totems too – you're welcome to visit Jorrvaskr any time and pray to them. Just find me first and I'll get you into the Underforge. Don't try and get in there on your own – wouldn't want any misunderstandings if Vilkas or someone were to find you there.”

“Sithis save us from misunderstandings,” Eola laughed. “I need to head back to the Reach, but maybe I'll tag along next time Cicero visits Kodlak.”

“I'll be sure to keep a tankard of mead warm for you,” Aela promised, as she and Eola left the cave. 

Once outside, final goodbyes were said and Aela took off for Whiterun, while Eola assumed her beast form and ran for Markarth. Time to go back to being an assassin again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

When she finally got to the Temple of Sithis, a little after sunrise, things were quiet. The Temple was in total darkness – unusual, but not unheard of if the fire had burnt out and the braziers hadn't been filled. All the same, Muiri was usually very good at remembering to do this sort of thing. Odd. Eola lit them with a Flames spell and made her way inside.

More braziers that need relighting, and Eola felt her neck begin to crawl. Something wasn't right here – and then she nearly slipped on something wet on the floor. Some sort of spillage? Eola cast a magelight – and screamed in horror. The liquid was blood, and before her lay the butchered remains of Argis the Bulwark, the Brotherhood's housecarl, a gift from Madanach. A quiet man, didn't say much, but always polite and always unfailingly nice to Eola. She'd liked him. And now someone had come here and killed him. On the other side of the room lay Muiri's unmoving form, likewise lying in a pool of blood. She'd not even been an assassin, just an alchemist wanting to branch out on her own and honoured to help the Brotherhood out after they'd seen her ex-boyfriend to his grave.

“Who...?” Eola breathed, calling fire to her hands. She would find the bastards who did this and personally fry them. Then a footstep behind her, and she realised they were still here.

She spun round and blasted a fireball in the general direction of whoever poor fool had decided to trifle with the Brotherhood. It turned out to be a man in strange purple robes and some mask shaped like a squid? Eola hadn't seen its like before and didn't care, she just wanted him dead.

The intruder cried out as he beat the flames from his robes, and Eola would easily have bested him... had there not been another one behind her. A paralysis spell flared out and smacked straight into her, causing Eola to fall to the ground, staring furiously up at the two of them, a man and a woman, both in those strange outfits.

“Should we kill her too?” That was the woman.

“No,” the man said, and from the tone of his voice, he was clearly smiling. “Get those spare robes and the sleeping potions, we're taking her with us. I think this might just be Eola, the false Dragonborn's slut. I think Lord Miraak might have a use for her.”

“Eola the Reach-Princess?” the woman laughed, tracing a finger down Eola's face. “Why yes, the eye, I do believe you're right. Oh yes, she's perfect.”

False Dragonborn? Miraak? Eola wanted to shout at them that Cicero was no false Dragonborn, as they'd likely find out when he found out about this. But a cloth soaked in sleeping potion covered her face, and she knew no more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

_“Listener.”_

“Wha- let me sleep,” Delphine murmured, turning over in her bed. Winter was coming and the mornings were getting chillier. She'd no wish to get up any earlier than she had to.

_“Listener!”_

Delphine opened her eyes. Next to her, Cicero was still fast asleep, and he'd not summoned Lucien for a few days. No one else in the room, so who would be calling her at this hour?

 _“LISTENER!!! COME QUICKLY!!!”_ Delphine finally recognised the voice as that of the Night Mother, and she sounded distraught.

“All right, all right,” Delphine sighed, pulling on a night dress and robe and sliding her feet into her slippers. “I'm coming!” She left the room, running down the corridor until she reached the Night Mother's chapel. Inside all seemed well, some of the candles in need of replacing but other than that, fine. In front of the coffin's cage with its soul gem barrier sealing it off from the world's impurities was the new shrine, a human skull coated in ebony, two rubies for eyes and a hand-print on the forehead painted red with blood from a daedra heart. When prayed to, it granted a blessing to the devotee's sneak attacks, either greater skill at stealth archery, greater power to one-handed attacks or the ability to cast magic quietly, whichever skill the devotee was best at. Only temporary but it was a powerful thing to have. Worth the expense and effort involved in creating it.

“What is it, Mother?” Delphine asked, trying to sound as soothing as possible. “Are you all right?”

 _“No!”_ came the anguished reply. _“My Shrine – desecrated! Blood in my Temple! One of the Black Hand taken! Get dressed and get down there! Now! Make them pay, Listener. Make them pay dearly!!!”_

Nothing more, but there didn't need to be. Delphine had gone from sleepy to fully alert at the mere mention of one of the Black Hand being taken. She was here, so was Cicero, and the reference to the Temple meant it was definitely Markarth not Dawnstar or Windhelm.

“Sithis, no,” Delphine whispered, feeling her heart sink. “Eola.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It had been as bad as the Night Mother had said. It had been worse. Delphine had raced back to her bedroom, woken Cicero up and his shrieking had woken the entire Sanctuary. She'd calmed everyone down, got Cicero and herself dressed and the two of them had run for Markarth.

They'd got to the city to find two Forsworn guards barring the way. Apparently the blood trailing out of the front door had been noticed by one of the guards, who'd investigated. Now half the city was on alert, it seemed.

“Matriarch, Keeper, thank the old gods,” the gate guard had said, relieved. “Your Temple, it's... we're looking into it, the Reach-King's personally involved, we don't know who did it, but we'll find them, I swear.”

Delphine hadn't stopped to listen to any more. Heart in her mouth, she ran into the city, taking the steps to the Temple two at a time, Cicero close behind. There were more guards barring the Temple Entrance, but they stepped aside to let her in.

The place was a bloodbath, the antechamber kitchen room a mess. Muiri's body was lying on the floor – she looked to have been dragged from her bed in the alchemy room and butchered. Argis' body was lying in the doorway between the antechamber and the chapel proper. He'd put up a good fight but he'd been outnumbered from the look of it and without time to get his armour on, he'd succumbed.

Next to Argis, Madanach was seated in one of the chairs, staring at the body, horrified. He had Elisif there, sitting on his lap but he wasn't paying her any attention. He seemed lost in another world and that was unlike him, if anyone was inured to death and blood, it was the former King in Rags.

“Sir, it's the Matriarch,” said one of the guards. “Sir?” Madanach barely stirred.

It was Elisif who actually responded. “Thank you, Soneen, I'll talk to her. Delphine, thank goodness you're here, I'd have sent word but I don't know where your Sanctuary is and Madanach...” She gestured helplessly at her husband. “He's been like this ever since he got here and saw Argis. Madanach? Darling? Delphine's here. And... and Cicero. Won't you talk to them? Please?”

Madanach slowly lifted his eyes to Delphine's, devastation clearly apparent for all to see.

“Who did this, Delphine?” he whispered. “Who would dare?? I know you have enemies, but who's foolish enough to attack you direct?”

“I don't know,” said Delphine gently, dropping to her knees and taking his hand. “But I will find out and make them pay, I promise you.”

“Will it bring him back?” Madanach asked, eyes returning to Argis' prone form.

“Well, no, but why...” Delphine tried to think why Argis' death had devastated Madanach like this and tried to recall what she actually knew about the man. Not a lot, only that his mother was a Nord who'd been killed when Ulfric sacked Markarth and his father was a Reachman who'd been able to get the young Argis out of the city and to a Forsworn camp where he'd grown up and later become a Forsworn agent with the guards of Markarth. A Reachman with sufficient clout to get a Nord child accepted by the Forsworn. 

“He was my son, Delphine,” said Madanach, his voice rawer and more savage than usual. “I kept it quiet, didn't want Mireen finding out, but every man has his moments of weakness and after Inga saved my life after a Nord ambush one day, well, I was injured, she looked after me, things happened... it could never go anywhere, I knew that, but I made sure our son was taken care of. Kaie and Eola don't know, hardly anyone knew, just a handful of people who were at Druadach Redoubt with me after the Bear ravaged my city. Oh and Nepos. Nepos knows all my dirty little secrets. But Argis knew and I knew, and I loved that boy. Sent him to you because I thought he'd be safer there than being on regular guard duty. Safer!”

Delphine squeezed his hand, not sure what else to say. She'd never really been any good at comforting people, apart from Cicero, but he wasn't too hard to look after once you knew what made him tick. Fortunately Elisif was on hand to deal with that. 

“Oh love,” Elisif whispered, cradling Madanach in her arms. “Why did you never tell me??”

“Didn't think you'd approve of me having illegitimate offspring running around,” said Madanach faintly. Elisif just held him, rubbing his back and kissing his cheek.

“Just don't father any more, that's all I ask,” said Elisif. Madanach actually laughed at that.

“I'm an old man, Elisif. I don't have the energy to go fooling around any more. You don't need to worry about that.”

On the far side of the room, the young guardswoman Soneen started shouting.

“No, for the old gods' sake, this is a crime scene, that's evidence, put it down!”

Delphine turned round, her heart heavy, just knowing who that was without even having to look, but looking anyway. Sure enough, Cicero was kneeling in one corner, clutching something in his hands and ignoring Soneen entirely. Soneen threw up her hands and turned to Delphine.

“Matriarch, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude but can you get the Keeper to stop picking things up?? We've got jobs to do here.”

“Of course,” Delphine sighed. “Cicero, put it down and get over here. Cicero? Cicero, what is that?”

Slowly, Cicero raised his own head, eyes twin pits of darkness and his expression the mirror of Madanach's. Delphine looked at what was in his hands, and felt her heart stop as she recognised Eola's Forsworn headdress, covered in blood from where it had fallen into a pool of it. She'd been here... and now wasn't, and she'd not left willingly or that headdress would not be here, not without her anyway.

“They have Eola,” was all he said, voice low and deadly. “They have sweet Eola Tinvaaki. They have desecrated the Dread Father's Temple and taken my sister.”

Delphine felt everything around her go quiet, the only sound a desperate, grief-stricken howl that was coming from her own throat.

Hand on her shoulder, and then Madanach's voice with that ring of authority back in it. 

“All right, I want every guard on duty last night or this morning interviewed. I want every citizen spoken to, I want to know who saw anything. You don't just ambush and abduct a trained nightblade like my daughter without someone noticing. They may have killed my son, damned if they're taking my daughter too. Elisif, we're going back to the Keep. I – I need to be alone. You there, Soneen. You're in charge of co-ordinating all this. You find anything useful, you come find Nepos immediately, or the Matriarch if she's in any state to deal with it. And somebody send a runner up to Dead Crone Rock. I need Kaie back in the city, she needs to know... damn it, I just want the girl where I can see her, all right? And... when you're ready to bury my son, call me.”

A shadow and then Madanach breathing in her ear.

“Come to the Keep. Bring Cicero. Anything we find, anything at all, you'll know as soon as I do. When we've got some leads, I've got no problem with your people following them up. Anything you need in the way of assistance or expenses, you've only to ask. My daughter is worth all the Reach's mines put together.”

Delphine nodded, not sure she felt able to speak. She let Madanach and Elisif help her up, then went to get Cicero. He put the headdress down and got up, tears glittering in his eyes.

“They will pay,” he breathed, and this cold fury was worse than if he'd been shrieking the place down. “The filthy desecrators will die and they will die in _pain_. They shall die in screaming agony and Sithis shall claim their souls for the Void. Cicero swears it, Listener.”

Delphine pulled him into her arms and held on to him. She could believe it too. She had no idea who was responsible or where they'd gone, but when they did find them – she'd take them apart herself if she had to. Anything to get her girl back.

“I don't know who they are,” she whispered. “I don't know where they've gone or where they've taken her or if she's all right or what they might be doing to her. Gods, Cicero, I don't even know where to start.”

Cicero didn't react, hardly moved, although she could feel him shaking.

“When the Daedra took me, what did you do then?” he asked quietly.

“Asked questions, had the entire Brotherhood all over Skyrim looking for you, asking in every Hold. Then we listened out for sightings and followed the bodies. But that was different! That time you'd just wandered off, there were sightings to find. This time someone took her by force. Someone hurt her, and they might keep hurting her until we find her. And I'm scared, Cicero. I'm so scared.”

Cicero clung on to her, and when he did speak, there was a lump in his throat and he was as terrified as she was.

“Listener... Listener, we'll find her. We have to. Cicero never... Cicero never told her he loved her before... So we have to find her so Cicero can tell her. We have to, Listener, so we will. We will!”

Delphine recognised the rising note of hysteria in his voice and knew he'd lose it if she didn't pull herself together. Cicero and Eola had been spending time together, either snuggling in a quiet corner of the Sanctuary, or in their own rooms, or off terrorising the countryside, and while she'd not delved too deeply, they'd both told her separately that things were going well, and they'd both looked happy together. It had been nice to see, especially as they'd both gone out of their way to be affectionate to her, together and separately. She hadn't realised they'd not actually said the words.

“We will find her,” Delphine whispered, stroking his hair. “I'll speak to Soneen, get her to bring everything to me. We will track her down, I swear it, Cicero.”

Cicero nodded, kissing her on the cheek, looking a little less frantic. “You might try asking Hogni the meat trader, or Banning who works at the stables. They are Eola's friends. They might have seen things, heard things. Tell them the Champion needs to know.”

Namira's coven. Well, why not? It was as good a place as any to start.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Aela ran up the steps to Jorrvaskr, eager to stow the Totem in the Underforge and see if it truly did what Skjor's book had claimed. Finally, finally, she had them all!

 _We did it, Skjor. I can't claim the deaths of your killers, but I did what you wanted. I got the Totems._ It wouldn't bring Skjor back. But it would at least mean she and future generations of Jorrvaskr werewolves would have the power he'd wanted for them. The dream hadn't died with him.

Her good mood lasted right up until the doors of Jorrvaskr flung open and a masked man in purple robes staggered out, blasting lightning into the mead hall.

“You may fight now, Companions, but the True Dragonborn is coming!” the man shouted. “Miraak will come and he will destroy you and your false Dragonborn – aak!”

Aela had grabbed him from behind in a move she'd copied off Eola and rammed her dagger into his kidneys. The man's magic died as he fell to the ground, dead. Inside, a fight was still raging, with tables overturned, food everywhere, lightning blasting all over the place. Two more masked figures were fighting inside, one blasting lightning at Farkas and Ria while the other faced off against Kodlak and Vilkas.

“Tell us where he is!” the man fighting Kodlak shouted. “Tell us where you are hiding your false Dragonborn!”

“The Dragonborn hides only when he wishes to,” Kodlak roared back, blocking a thunderbolt with his shield and swinging forward with his sword. “But that is when he is most to be feared!” One swipe later and the intruder's head went flying, severed from his body in a spray of blood. The other one, a woman shrieked in fury and sent a fireball flying at Kodlak, knocking the old man off his feet and into a pillar. 

“Lord Miraak will take your false Dragonborn and destroy him!” the woman screamed, raising her hands to finish Kodlak off. She might even have succeeded had Vilkas not charged in, greatsword raised and a bloodcurdling scream coming from his throat. The blow struck her torso, cutting deep into her and nearly severing her in two. The magic died from her hands and she collapsed to the floor, dead. 

“Kodlak!” Ria cried, rushing to the Harbinger's side. “Are you all right?”

“Aye lass,” Kodlak gasped. He'd dropped and rolled, beating the flames out, and was slowly getting to his feet, fingering a silver necklace Cicero had given him for his birthday, a necklace with a powerful anti-magic enchantment that he'd found in some old ruin. Bless the lad. Kodlak had protested that the chances of him fighting off against some necromancer were fairly slim these days, but Cicero had been very insistent and looked up at him hopefully, so Kodlak had taken it and worn it regularly under his armour. Today it might just have saved his life. “Takes more than some insane priest to bring me down. Does anyone have a healing potion – thank you, Farkas. Now, is everyone else all right?”

Everyone was, although the place was a mess – blood everywhere, furniture everywhere, food and mead everywhere, Torvar and Brill beating out a small fire that had started after a log from the hearth ended up on a mead-soaked banner. Tilma was going to be less than pleased, but at least none of them had died.

“What happened here?” Aela asked, surveying the wrecked mead hall. “Who are these people? And what were they saying about a false Dragonborn?”

“That's what I intend to find out,” said Kodlak grimly. “They weren't here for us. They were after Cicero. They were trying to kill my son.”

“Good luck with that,” Vilkas snorted. “They've clearly never met him.” He stopped talking at a glare from Kodlak and Ria.

“Vilkas has a point though,” said Athis, leaning over the rail. “We've all seen Cicero in action, we all know he's not an easy man to kill. We've also seen him breathe fire, land in our backyard on a dragon, and Ria says she's seen him take a dragon's soul. We know he's definitely Dragonborn, so why is someone saying he's not and sending minions to kill him?”

“Well, that's what we need to find out,” said Kodlak. “Search the bodies, let's see if any of them had any clue as to who these people are and who sent them.”

Not a particularly pleasant task, especially with the one Vilkas had carved in two, but eventual searching revealed, aside from some food, magicka potions, daggers and coins, a note.

_“Take the Northern Maiden from Raven Rock to Windhelm. The False Dragonborn, called Cicero, also known as the Jester Dragonborn, is known to be affiliated with the Companions of Jorrvaskr in Whiterun, but spends most of the time in the former province of Skyrim called the Reach. His home is unknown but he and his lover, Eola, are known to frequent the Temple of Sithis in Markarth. Take care while in Markarth – the woman Eola is the daughter of the local king and therefore untouchable. Ensure you attack in stealth if you seek him there – if you are seen attacking either of them, the guards will intervene, and they are as skilled in magic as any of you._

_Find the pretender and bring his head back to Solstheim to adorn our Temple. For the glory of our Lord Miraak, the True Dragonborn!”_

“Miraak?” Farkas asked, confused. “I've never heard of this lord Miraak.”

“Nor have I,” said Kodlak, frowning as he folded the note in half, staring out at the mead hall but not really seeing anything. “But it's clear this Miraak, whoever he is, is Dragonborn or at least thinks he is, and has sufficient power to convince other people of that too. Enough to recruit a cult of fanatics.”

“Can there be two Dragonborns at a time?” Ria asked. “I suppose there's no reason why not, but all the stories...”

“I rather think that the stories tend to have only one Dragonborn at a time because the most powerful one would wipe out rivals,” said Kodlak sombrely. “It would seem that's what this Miraak is trying to do.”

Silence fell over the room as everyone contemplated a war between two rival Dragonborns. One the leader of a cult of murderous fanatics... and the other one a murderous fanatic married to the leader of a death cult. As far as heroic battles went, neither side had a lot going for it. However, Cicero might be a murdering lunatic, but when it came right down to it, he was their murdering lunatic.

“So what do we do?” Ria asked. “Did you want us to go to Solstheim and fight this Miraak?”

“Ready when you are, Harbinger!” Farkas growled, cracking his knuckles, and Vilkas was nodding in approval as well, as were Torvar and Athis, in fact the only one looking uncertain was Aela.

“Calm down, everyone,” Kodlak sighed. “Yes, of course we'll help Cicero any way we can, but we can't just go to Solstheim and declare war. We need a plan of attack, and in order to formulate one, we need to get Cicero himself involved. Not to mention his extremely formidable wife who when she finds out about this will almost certainly start planning a strategy herself. No, what we need to do is – yes, Aela?”

“Harbinger, by your leave, we need to leave for Markarth at once!” Aela cried. “You see that note, they know about the Temple, if the attack here failed, that's where they'll hit next, if they've not done so already. And... and they know Eola's his lover, she's in danger too. Harbinger, today's her day at the Temple, we have to get there now!”

How Aela knew that, Kodlak decided it was best not to ask. He was aware that Aela had been out on solo trips lately, and there were now two Totems of Hircine in the Underforge that had been the result. He didn't think she'd have wanted to delve into dank caves and dangerous ruins without someone to watch her back, and given the nature of the prize, she'd want another werewolf. It hadn't been Vilkas or Farkas, Aela would never have asked Arnbjorn given their history, which only left one option. However it had come about, it seemed Aela the Huntress and Eola ap Madanach had formed an alliance of sorts.

“Aela, have you been out all night?” Kodlak asked. Werewolf stamina was considerable, he knew that, but sending someone with a clear head was probably a better option.

Aela admitted that had been the case.

“Then get some rest. We all know where Markarth is. I can send one of the others – yes, Ria?”

“Harbinger, I'll go,” said Ria, practically bouncing on the spot. “You can spare me for a day or two. The Circle should stay here in case any more cultists turn up.”

“You are not going out there on your own!” Vilkas snapped at her. “It's dangerous! There's beasts-”

“I killed a bear yesterday!” Ria cried.

“And bandits! And thieves and now these cultists as well? No, it's too dangerous-”

“Vilkas,” said Kodlak wearily. “We are Companions, we face danger on a daily basis. Ria is a very capable warrior, I'm sure she will be fine.”

“I don't care, she's not going on her own,” Vilkas snarled. “I'm going with her. She'll be safer with a Shield-Brother to watch her back.”

“Oh good, just what I need, you constantly telling me I'm holding my sword wrong,” Ria sighed. “You're my mentor, not my father!”

“That's enough!” Kodlak cried before a full-blown argument developed. It had been happening more and more often lately, and everyone knew what was behind it – Vilkas' pig-headed refusal to admit he had feelings for his young protégée, never mind act on them. Honestly, a mission away from home together might just be the very thing to get Vilkas to finally open his eyes and speak to the lass. “You're both going. Ria, it is safer with two, I agree. Vilkas, Ria's a full member of the Companions, she's no shrieking maiden. Go with her, but you are watching her back as she is watching yours, you are not there as bodyguard. Get your things and go, you've no time to lose. Get to the Temple and give this note to Cicero or Eola. If they're not there, wait for them or alternately go to the Keep and speak to Madanach. He won't sit idle while his daughter's in danger, and I'd be very surprised if he didn't know where their Sanctuary is.”

Vilkas and Ria nodded their assent and ran to get their things. Kodlak sat back while everyone else set to work, still not entirely recovered from the magical attack yet. These cultists were vicious and fanatical and not going to stop any time soon. This time they'd won, but what if they came back? And what if they found Cicero? Well, the odds were that they'd end up dead in fairly short order, Kodlak knew. But all the same, he worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so bad about Muiri and Argis. Especially Argis, I really wanted to do more with his character, but never got the chance. Alas. At least he's in Sovngarde. Stelmaria can look after him and generally fuss over him.
> 
> I am torn between having Eola rescued before they get her to Solstheim, or not. Whether that happens or not sends the plot off in two different directions, one of which is very dark and angsty. Will need to think on this.


	2. Family of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescue comes for Eola, but after being back with her blood kin for a few hours, she's beginning to wish she was back with the cultists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I went with the less angsty version. I can't break Eola like that, she's too key a character. Glad I did, the opening was dark enough, and this chapter was a lot of fun to write. It can be summed up in one word: families. A nice light relief section for you all.

“Eola's gone?” Banning looked horrified. “What, abducted? Someone abducted Eola?”

“Yes,” Cicero sighed. “That is what happened. The filthy defilers murdered dear Muiri and butchered loyal Argis and then they took Eola. My sweet Eola. So tell Cicero, Banning. Tell Cicero if you saw anything. They would have had to take her out of the city somehow, and they would have to have disguised her or the guards would have seen and stopped it.”

Banning looked up to where Delphine was watching, arms folded in her black armour the mirror of Cicero's own, foot tapping on the ground but not making a sound. There should be noise, why didn't those boots make a noise?

“I – I don't know, I... wait. Now that you mention it...”

“Yes?” purred Cicero, tapping his fingers together, Ring of Namira clearly visible and right in Banning's line of sight.

“There were three of them, leaving the city early this morning,” said Banning, trying to remember the details of the strange mages and definitely not have his mind keep coming back to Cicero the Champion of Namira sinking a knife into a priest of Arkay as if he'd done it a hundred times. “A man, two women, and one of the women looked to be injured or unconscious because they were carrying her. They were wearing these weird purple robes and masks shaped liked, I don't know, those weird Cyrodiilian sea creatures with all the legs.”

“Calamari,” Cicero murmured, feeling a sudden craving for baby octopus in lemon and garlic butter, just like Stelmaria used to make. “And they were all dressed like that? Faces not visible?”

Banning nodded. “Yes. They took the carriage east not half an hour after sunrise. I think they asked to go to Windhelm.”

“Windhelm,” Cicero breathed, turning to Delphine, hope flaring. Windhelm, home to Skyrim's third Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary after Karthspire and Dawnstar. If they could just get word to Aranea in time...

Cicero thanked Banning for his assistance and Delphine handed over a purse of septims by way of recompense before hauling Cicero away to talk privately.

“You think he's telling the truth? Not mistaken?”

Cicero nodded. “He lies not. Cicero can tell. Cicero doesn't think it could be anyone else and they had a prisoner.”

“All right,” said Delphine softly. “I need to get back to the Keep and tell Madanach we have a lead. I need you to get away from here and call Odahviing. They've only been travelling for a few hours, they can't even have got to Whiterun yet. Cover the road between here and Windhelm, look for carriages with anyone matching that description. When you find them, get Eola out of there by any means necessary. Then if you can, keep one alive to interrogate, but kill the other. I want to know who they are, where they came from, who sent them and why. But Eola's safety comes first – if it's a choice between rescuing her or getting information, rescue her. We'll get the information another way if we have to. We can't replace Eola.”

“It shall be as you command, my sweetling,” Cicero promised, kissing her fingers. “Listener, when Cicero has finished his questioning, is he allowed to destroy the thieving defilers and send them to the Void in agony?”

“Yes,” Delphine laughed, kissing his cheek. “In fact, I hope you will.”

Cicero kissed her on the lips, delighted beyond the telling of it to have free rein on the unfortunate priests.

“Bring her home, Dragonborn,” Delphine gasped when he finally let her go.

“Cicero will,” Cicero growled, before turning and running down the road out of Markarth. Delphine watched him go, lump in her throat. She just hoped this lead panned out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Ria staggered after Vilkas, cursing him quietly under her breath as she tried to keep up with his longer stride. He'd barely said a word all journey except to criticise her when she'd killed some wolves.

“I killed them all in about fifteen seconds without any help from you,” she snapped.

“Not quick enough,” Vilkas had snapped back. “If another enemy had arrived while you were dealing with the wolves, you would have struggled. You should be killing them instantly and moving on in three seconds.”

“Well, perhaps if my Shield-Brother hadn't run on ahead and not left me to deal with them on my own, perhaps they might have been dead in three!” Ria shouted. She was really getting quite sick of this. She'd killed them all, no one else had turned up, what was Vilkas' problem?

“I was scouting ahead!” Vilkas seethed at her. “Making sure there was no one lying in wait!”

“Scouting ahead?? Vilkas, we're in the middle of the damn tundra, we can see for miles! There is nobody on this road!”

“No?” Vilkas asked, turning to point at a dot on the road ahead. “Well, what do you call that then?”

Ria squinted, wishing she had Vilkas' werewolf senses. She wasn't officially supposed to know about the beast blood, but she'd seen Farkas transform, it wasn't hard to work out Vilkas had the blood too. 

“Is that the carriage from Markarth?” she asked, just about able to make out a horse.

“Well, yes, yes it is,” Vilkas admitted. “But it could have been a hostile adversary. You can never tell these things.”

“Yes, Vilkas,” said Ria wearily. “Can we get going now?”

They kept walking, and sure enough it was the carriage from Markarth, driven by a friendly chap called Skirnir Roadstrider who often did this route and who liked to flirt with Ria whenever he saw her.

“Good day, Skirnir, keeping well?” she called out cheerfully, feeling perversely pleased at Vilkas' hackles rising.

Normally this was the point where Skirnir would call back to her and ask if she wanted a ride anywhere, and a flirty conversation laden with double entendres would ensue. Not this time. Skirnir was just staring vacantly ahead, and when she called to him, he just looked at her, intoning the words “Far from yourself.”

Ria drew her sword. Something was very wrong. Beside her, Vilkas started growling, his eyes flicking to Skirnir's passengers. Two of them, dressed in purple and gold robes with masks shaped like octopi that hid their faces, and they were getting to their feet, magic at the ready.

“Look out!” she cried, raising her shield as fire and lightning came her way. Her ebony shield blocked the fireball from one, but the other had a black staff that sent a bolt of energy right at Vilkas, sending him reeling. Neither mage looked inclined to get out and fight face to face. Ria cursed and reached for her bow. Cicero and Aela had both been giving her archery lessons. She had to hope it would be enough.

Of course, that was when the dragon showed up. The huge silhouette blotted out the sun as it flew over, and any hope that it was just passing through died as it wheeled around and came back. 

“Get down!” she heard Vilkas cry as he shoved her to one side and raised his bow. The two priests likewise had their magic trained on the dragon. The dragon cried out as magic hit it but it did not retaliate. It didn't need to. From the top of its head a black arrow shot out, striking the male cultist in the chest and sending him flying.

Dragons didn't use bows, but a rider might. Ria could only think of one person who habitually rode dragons.

“Vilkas, don't shoot! That's Odahviing! And Cicero!”

Sure enough the dragon landed behind the carriage and a small black and red figure leapt off its head. Odahviing took off again, roaring as he began to circle, still not Shouting. The female cultist had taken advantage of the distraction to cast healing magic on her companion, and both were now turning to face Cicero.

“Pretender!” the woman shouted, raising her staff to strike. “False Dragonborn! We have you in our sights at last!”

“Filthy defilers!” Cicero shrieked back, taking aim for another shot. “Desecrators of the Night Mother's Shrine! Cicero shall send you to the Void!!” He darted to the left to avoid the barrage of magic coming his way, and raised his bow to shoot.

It was at that moment a vicious roar came from the carriage. Fabric tore, another mask like that of the cultists' flew out and landed at Ria's feet, and the female cultist screamed.

“Werewolf??” she cried. Seconds later, she dissolved in a spray of blood as golden-brown fur flashed in the sunlight and claws tore her apart, teeth tearing into her flesh. Behind her, her male counterpart frowned in confusion.

“But that can't be right, Reachmen think it's a curse, only Nords would have beast blood – gaahhh!” He fired more fire at the beast as it turned on him.

Ria didn't know what was going on and didn't care, but anyone who hated the cultists was alright by her. Hastily smearing magicka poison on an arrow, she took aim and shot the cultist. He fell to the floor of the carriage, not dead but definitely weakened, his spells failing. The werewolf howled again and pounced, treating him as it had treated his friend.

By this time, Cicero had rushed in, standing at the foot of the carriage with hands to his cheeks.

“No, no, sister, Delphine wanted one alive to interrogate!” he cried. The beast finally finished chewing on the cultist and looked up, growling. Cicero met its eyes and smiled.

“But she also said rescue you first and never mind if I had to kill them to do it.” He held out his arms, happy smile on his face and not even caring about the blood and bodies. “Sister. Oh sister. Thank Sithis, we were so worried...”

Ria had never heard a werewolf make such a piteous whining sound, and she'd definitely never seen one leap off a carriage and start cuddling someone before. Cicero was stroking its fur, making little soothing noises. 

“Ssh, ssh, my love, it is all right, Cicero is here. I've got you, I've got you, it's all right.”

“Am I actually seeing this?” Ria whispered. “Cicero's cuddling a transformed werewolf?”

“You're seeing it,” Vilkas confirmed, his face grim. “Not just any werewolf. That's Eola. She... got infected. It's not widely known, so keep it to yourself. But if they had her...”

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. The cultists had already hit Markarth. At least the note had said to go in stealth to Markarth. Hopefully that meant no bloodbath. Hopefully.

Eola's fur shimmered and vanished as the wolf changed into a naked woman who promptly collapsed in Cicero's arms.

“Cicero,” she sobbed. “Cicero, the Temple, they...”

“I know,” Cicero said, holding her tight. “I know, my lovely, I know.”

“They killed Argis!” Eola howled. “He was my friend! We used to talk about life in the Forsworn together. And I'd tell him how much I'd missed Da, and he used to talk about how the Nords had taken his father when he was barely fourteen, and he put up with me whining about how annoying Da was being over the whole marriage thing and, and... oh Sithis, Cicero, they killed Muiri too, she was such a sweetheart, she was just an alchemist, she never killed anyone!”

“I know,” Cicero said again, holding her and stroking her hair. “But you are safe, you are safe, they did not hurt you?”

Eola shook her head. “No. Just doped me with some sleeping potion. But they didn't know I was a werewolf, so they didn't give me enough to keep me out long enough and I woke up. I kept really still, waiting for a chance to escape, then I heard Vilkas and Ria and then you turned up...”

Cicero didn't answer, looking up to where Vilkas and Ria had been watching. He smiled slightly at Ria, but the smile faded when he saw Vilkas.

“What, see something you like, do you, Vilkas? Get your lustful gaze away from my Eola, she has suffered enough without having to deal with your base urges!”

“I'm not-!” Vilkas protested, going red and looking away.

“You are!” Ria snapped, feeling angry at this and not knowing why. “Stop staring and go find her some clothes. What sort of state are those cultists' robes in?”

Not a brilliant state, it turned out, but enough of the male cultist's robes had survived to at least cover Eola. The Forsworn armour she'd had on underneath was in pieces.

“Da's gonna kill me,” Eola said ruefully, staring at the shredded remains of the Armour of the Old Gods he'd given her. Cicero just kissed her cheek.

“He will not. He was worried. He – he will want to see you. Know you are safe.”

“What, so he can give me another lecture?” Eola snorted. “Yeah, right. Can't I just go back to Sanctuary? I just wanna sleep...” She snuggled against Cicero, yawning, still a little woozy from the sleeping potion.

Meanwhile, Skirnir had staggered out from where he'd been hiding behind the carriage.

“What happened?” he gasped. “How'd I end up here? I was in Markarth, wasn't I?” He took one look at the blood and bodies and then the Reach-King's daughter in a torn and bloodstained robe, and oh Divines, the Jester Dragonborn who everyone knew had traded his soul for the ability to kill anything, and promptly began to panic.

“Gods, oh gods, Shor help me, what happened??” he cried. “Whatever I did, I didn't mean it, I swear.”

Ria cringed a little as she tried to reassure him. There went her secret fantasies of seducing him one of these days. She'd be lucky if he ever looked her in the eye again. 

“It's all right, I'm sure it wasn't your fault. It was those mages. Their friends attacked Jorrvaskr too. Looks like they'd taken Eola prisoner and were trying to get her away. Skirnir, it's all right, no one's going to hurt you.”

“What about that dragon??” Skirnir cried, as Odahviing came in to land. 

“Oh, it is all right,” said Cicero cheerfully. “He is friendly, he won't hurt you.”

This did not reassure Skirnir in the slightest, in fact he was starting to sob and Ria mentally consigned all hope of seducing him to Oblivion. He'd never handle going out with a Companion, especially not one who knew the Dragonborn. 

“You should probably get back to Whiterun,” she said gently. “Take your horse, leave the cart.” She looked at it, covered with blood and innards and body parts and decided it was beyond salvaging. “Er. Does anyone know what a cart costs to replace these days?”

Fortunately, Cicero had enough on him to cover it and cheerfully gave Skirnir his entire coin purse.

“It is no bother, Madanach said he would cover all expenses incurred in retrieving his daughter, Cicero shall claim it back off him. No, don't fret sister, Cicero shall tell unknowing Madanach it was all his fault.”

Skirnir took the money, cut his horse free from the carriage, mounted it and promptly rode off for Whiterun, there and then deciding to retire from carriage driving and just be a stable-hand from now on.

“Yol-Ah,” Odahviing growled, nudging at her with his nose. “And Ria too. It is good to see you. And this other one who smells like a wolf.”

“This is Vilkas,” said Cicero, still sitting on the road with Eola cradled in his arms. “He is – he is with us. Well, with Ria really. It is lucky you were passing by, the help was appreciated. Although... was Cicero seeing things or were you attacking the carriage before we did? Could Vilkas tell they had Eola?”

“Yes,” said Vilkas curtly. “But that wasn't the only reason. Ria and I, we've seen those robes before. A group of them attacked Jorrvaskr this morning.”

Cicero went pale, his smile fading. “Say it is not so. Jorrvaskr too? But... the Harbinger. Kodlak. Tell me he is well. Tell me!”

“He's fine,” said Ria gently. “Injured but not badly. He'll be fine. He said that necklace you gave him probably saved his life.”

Cicero smiled faintly, not reassured by this. “That is good. Taking Cicero's sister is bad enough. To have killed his father...” He closed his eyes and tightened his grip on Eola. “Why would they do this? First the Temple of Sithis, now Jorrvaskr?? The Brotherhood is feared rather than loved, Cicero knows, but the Companions are respected across all Skyrim! Who would be foolish enough to fight them?”

“Miraak,” Eola breathed. “They said they worked for a guy called Miraak. And I think they were looking for you. They called you the False Dragonborn.”

“False Drago- Cicero is not a false Dragonborn!!!” Cicero snarled. “Cicero is the real Dragonborn and this Miraak is going to die! Slowly and painfully! Did they say where he is?”

Eola shook her head. “No. But I think there's more of them out there. They'll come back, Cici.”

Ria reached into her pocket and took out the note they'd found on the cultists at Jorrvaskr. “Here. This was on the ones that attacked us. They're after you all right. They're from Solstheim. This Miraak guy has a temple out there and his own cult from the look of it.”

Cicero took the note and read it. His hands were shaking as he finally lowered it. 

“They were after me,” he whispered. “All this blood, the desecration, attacking my father and taking my sweet Eola... all this to hurt me. All this is Cicero's fault.”

“Don't say that, how is it your fault?” Ria cried. “You weren't to know.”

“Yeah, you didn't do anything to cause it other than be Dragonborn and you can't help that,” said Eola, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “Sweetie, you saved me.”

“You saved yourself, sister,” said Cicero softly. “Vilkas and Ria were here too. You did not need poor Cicero.”

“Gonna need you for a ride home though,” Eola pointed out. “Not sure I'm up to walking just yet and Ria just sent the horse away.”

“Yes, yes, of course, of course,” Cicero murmured. “Odahviing? Could you take sweet Eola and I back to Markarth?”

“Of course, Ziizahro,” said Odahviing, but he sounded worried, even... afraid? Surely not, what on earth were dragons scared of? “But to know Miraak is abroad again... I did not think I would hear that name again. Hoped I would not, rather.”

“You know this impostor?” Cicero asked, frowning. Odahviing nodded.

“Know him?? I fought him. He is no impostor, Ziizahro. He is a true Dovahkiin. He is strong, Ziizahro. Be very careful.”

“Cicero killed Alduin,” Cicero growled. “Cicero shall do the same to Miraak too. Have no fear of that.”

“So said I once, in my youth and arrogance. He is strong, Thuri,” said Odahviing sadly. “But come. Let us return Yol-Ah to her Bormah Maar-Dinok and you to the Huzrah.”

“What about us?” Ria cried. “You're leaving us behind?”

Cicero looked at her, confused.

“Cicero thought you and Vilkas would be returning to Jorrvaskr,” said Cicero. “This is not your fight. This is Cicero's fight. Cicero is the reason Miraak is attacking, so Cicero will find him and stop him. Vilkas and Ria do not need to come.”

“Like Oblivion it's not our fight, have you seen the state they left Jorrvaskr in??” Vilkas shouted. 

“Yeah, we're not backing out now!” said Ria firmly. “Kodlak was really worried about you, Cicero. He'd want us to help any way we can.”

“Take 'em up on it, Cici,” said Eola sleepily. “Gonna need all the help we can get.”

Cicero shrugged and nodded. “Odahviing, are you able to carry these two as well?”

Odahviing growled but nodded. “Fine. This once. But if they fall off, it is not my problem.”

Cicero agreed and gathered Eola's things that the cultists had taken, and bundled her onto Odahviing's neck. Ria climbed on behind Cicero and Vilkas behind her, and then Odahviing took to the air, heading for Markarth.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eola didn't really remember a lot about the flight, other than the cold and the clinging on to Cicero and the screaming, by Namira, the screaming, if they'd been in the air any longer she'd have pushed Vilkas off herself just to get him to shut up.

Odahviing finally came in to land on the steps leading up to Understone Keep, ignoring the screaming of the townsfolk and guards approaching with weapons and magic raised. Instead he just placed his head on the entrance porch so they could get off. Vilkas was first off, then Ria, then Cicero cradled her in his arms and leapt off, landing nimbly on the stone, far more nimbly than either Ria or Vilkas had.

“That was...” Ria gasped, coughing in the breeze as Odahviing took off, wheeling around for home. “I still don't know if that's awesome or terrifying.”

“I am never doing that again,” Vilkas wheezed, dropping to his knees, very glad to be on solid ground again with a horizon that wasn't moving. “I don't care how fast it is. It's not natural.”

“You can put me down now,” Eola whispered, but it was nice, so nice, being held like this – Cicero might be short but he was no weakling, not by any stretch.

“Cicero is not letting you go if he can help it,” Cicero murmured, striding forward. The guards parted to let him through, opening the doors.

Through the Keep, along its imposing Dwemer hall, guards running ahead crying out that they'd found her, the missing princess was back. Eola closed her eyes, not greatly caring, just wanting a warm bed, ideally with either Cicero or Delphine or both in it, that's if her father didn't start making pointed comments about it being inappropriate for a member of the House of Madanach to be engaging in relations outside holy matrimony again. 

She opened her eyes as the feeling of Cicero sprinting up steps indicated she was nearly at the Mournful Throne. Her heart sank to see Kaie sitting there, head in her hands. No... please no...

Kaie looked up, war-painted eyes flashing furiously. Getting up, she raced down the steps to where Cicero was standing with Eola. In the background, Eola was dimly aware of Nepos snapping orders to find Elisif and the Matriarch.

“Put me down,” she whispered to Cicero. “I'm facing Kaie on my feet at least.” 

Cicero sighed but did as asked. Eola pulled the torn robe around her and folded her arms. Gods, she needed some proper clothes. Summoning what dignity she could manage, she turned to face her sister.

“Kaie. I'm not dead, look. Hope you're not disappointed.”

“You stupid...!” Kaie shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders. “You're supposed to be some Daedra-blessed magic wielding badass! A Daughter of Sithis! A killer without compare. Not some... some fucking damsel in distress who has to be rescued!”

“Well I'm sorry I didn't take them out with a piece of twine and an iron dagger like you would have done,” Eola snapped. “Not my fault some mother-fetchers thought ruining our Temple and murdering our attendants would be a good way to get our attention! Cicero, take me home, I did not come here to get bitched at for- oof!”

Kaie had flung her arms around Eola and was clinging on to her as if she was afraid she'd melt away.

“You stupid she-daedra,” Kaie sobbed. “I thought I'd never see you again.”

“Kaie,” Eola whispered, not sure what to say. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her sister cry. Not since they were kids and not often then. “Kaie, don't cry, please, come on troll-face, you never cry.”

“Shut up, Falmer-breath,” Kaie mumbled, and that was better, a return to the childhood insults of old. The two of them could keep that game up for hours. “Da's aged like a decade in one morning, he's just locked himself in his room with Elisif and is drowning his sorrows. And... and Argis, he's...”

“Dead. I know,” said Eola, trying to forget the image of his butchered, burnt form on the Temple floor. Kaie shook her head, tears rolling down her face.

“No! Well, yes, but... He was our brother, Eola! Da's secret half-Nord son that he never said anything about because he didn't want Ma to know! I just lost a brother and I didn't even know! He – we worked together in the Forsworn, it'd always be him letting me in to see Da and then out again while he was in prison, and he was always genuinely nice to me, pleased to see me, you know? And he was my brother and he knew that and Da knew that and no one... ever... told me!”

“You're kidding me,” Eola breathed, feeling her legs give way as the last of her strength gave out, and then Cicero was there, holding her up and ensuring the robe still covered her as she clung on to him.

“And you'd been taken, and I was worried it was just going to be me, running the damn Reach while my father drank himself to death and... dammit Eola, you can't die, you just can't!”

Eola didn't answer, couldn't answer. Argis had been her damn brother. Well, didn't that all look crystal clear in hindsight. 

“Cici?” she whispered, knowing she was going to cry any second. “Cici, take me home, please.”

“Eola? Eola, thank the Night Mother, you're all right, he found you, dear gods, what happened??”

Eola's composure finally cracked as Delphine was there, holding her in her arms, and there Eola was, a crying, sobbing wreck in a torn and bloodstained robe, being cradled in her girlfriend's arms with her boyfriend rubbing her back and babbling softly in her ear not to cry, she was home and safe and he loved her, he wouldn't let the vile cultists hurt her ever again, she was his pretty Eola, please... 

“I love you too, you insane madman,” she whispered through the tears and the irritating pain in the arse was smiling, damn him, smiling as he stroked her hair and kissed her just behind her ear.

“Cicero loves you,” he whispered again, eyes shining and that stupid smile on his stupid face. “Cicero loves you, loves you, loves you! He can say it now! And if Eola dies horribly in service to the Night Mother, at least she knows now, she knows!”

“Del, your husband's insane,” Eola murmured into Delphine's chest. Delphine just laughed and squeezed her tighter. 

“Yes, but at least he's got good taste in women. And I'm hoping no one else dies horribly in service to the Night Mother, not for a good while anyway.”

“I'm hoping Eola's not going to,” she heard Kaie say. “She's the only sibling I've got left! Even if she is an annoying troll-faced pain in the arse.”

“Shut up, at least I don't smell like one...”

“No wonder dear Madanach is turning to drink,” Cicero muttered, and that could have gone ill for him had the guards not cried out at the moment.

“ALL RISE FOR THE REACH-KING!”

Kaie let her sister go, her face a mask as she faced her father. Delphine straightened up and even Cicero coughed and stopped dancing. Slowly Eola looked up at the father she'd barely spoken to for the last few months, and those few conversations had been short and to the point, principally involving him criticising her romantic choices, her insisting she was happy and not getting married just to please him, him hitting back with she'd better if she still wanted to be part of the House of Madanach, and it had gone downhill from there, despite Elisif's attempts to play peacemaker when she was around. If that happened today, she was seriously done with the bloody House of Madanach.

She raised her eyes to his and bit her lip to see the emotion there. Seconds later he'd crossed the space between them as if they'd never argued and swept her into his arms.

“Da?” Eola whispered, knowing she was going to start crying again if he kept this up.

“You're alive,” he said gruffly, and she could smell jenever on his breath but that didn't matter, after the day she'd had, she could do with a shot of the stuff herself. “Thank Sithis, Anu, Yffre, Magnus, gods damn it, thank 'em all, even the Empire's Eight. I didn't think... I thought I'd lost you too. Eola, I – I'm so sorry, I never told you but...”

“You never told me I had a brother,” Eola whispered, feeling the tears come. “I always wanted a brother, and all this time I had one and you never said! And now he's gone and he was my friend and I miss him and... why??”

“I'm sorry,” was all Madanach said. “So sorry. I didn't want you to judge me, or for him to get hurt, or...”

“It didn't work,” Eola whispered and then she was crying helplessly on her father's shoulder. 

“Cariad,” Madanach breathed. “Cariad, I'm sorry. So sorry.” He looked at her properly and realised what she was wearing, or rather, not wearing. “Sweet gods, where are...” His entire face closed up and he raised his eyes to Cicero.

“Are the bastards who did this dead.”

Cicero nodded, even he feeling a little unnerved by that glare. “Oh yes. Quite dead.”

“Good,” Madanach growled. “I owe you, lad. See Nepos, he'll ensure you and the Matriarch are recompensed appropriately.” 

Cicero promptly scampered off, cooing to Nepos about needing 750 septims to replace the ones he'd given away due to a ruined cart covered in blood and viscera, described in detail so lurid even hardened Forsworn warriors were starting to look a bit pale and Delphine had to intervene to do the negotiations properly. Eola bit back a smile. That was her Cicero all right.

Elisif appeared at Madanach's side, smiling gently and stroking her hair. “Thank goodness you're alright. We've all been so worried. Kaie, your father, Delphine, everyone.”

Madanach kissed the top of Eola's head, still unwilling to let her go.

“She's not alright, Elisif, look at her, she... Eola. Gods, Eola. Cariad, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I must be the world's worst father, gods help me.”

“It's OK,” Eola whispered. “Cicero came and got me. On a dragon. Vilkas and Ria helped too.”

Madanach and Elisif both looked up and saw Vilkas and Ria for the first time, both hanging back and looking a bit sheepish.

“I know you, don't I?” said Madanach, frowning. “You're with the Companions.”

“That's right,” said Ria brightly, having absolutely no idea how to address a king but guessing the Forsworn weren't too hung up on formality. She hoped so anyway. “We were at Solitude supporting Elisif.”

“You were, and I won't soon forget it,” said Elisif, smiling. “Thank you so much for helping rescue Eola. We're very grateful. Aren't we, husband?”

“Sure, sure,” said Madanach, his attention more on his daughter than two Skyrim mercenaries. “Go see Nepos, get yourself paid. Nepos! Two more need paying over here. And get them an enchanted weapon each out of the armoury too, whatever they want.”

“I'm quite happy with Skyforge ste-” Vilkas began, up until Ria shoved him in the side.

“We're very grateful for your generosity, sir,” said Ria, bowing. “And if you ever need Jorrvaskr's help in the future, you've only to send word. Come on, Vilkas.” She dragged him off before he could say anything likely to make Madanach change his mind.

Happily for them both, Madanach was too busy cradling Eola in his arms.

“Come on,” he said gently. “Let's find you some clothes and a healer and some food and... gods, Eola, I'm sorry. You don't have to get married to Cicero or the Matriarch, not if you don't want. I'm still putting that damn law through if I have to throttle Nepos to do it, but only because you should have a choice. I'm not... I'm not going to force you... I'd never...” He clutched her to him and began leading her away. Eola snuggled into her father's arms, still tearful but finally beginning to calm down. It was going to be all right.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I love you, Da.”

Madanach muttered something indistinct into her hair and led her away.

“You don't have to thank me,” he said as they headed into his private chambers, Kaie closing the door behind them. “Not after... not after what those sons of bitches have done to you. My own city and I couldn't do a damn thing. My son dead and my daughter...” He didn't finish the sentence, just settling her into a chair, and Eola slowly realised given he had no idea she was a werewolf, he'd seen her with her own clothes ruined and drawn his own conclusions, and from the look on her face, Kaie had thought the same. Only Elisif wasn't looking sorry for her. No, Elisif was looking rather pointedly at her, staring down at her from the moral high ground she was so fond of.

Eola felt very sorry for any future children Elisif might have. That look had a way of quelling dissent. Besides, Madanach was bereaved, penitent, had utterly lost any moral high ground he might have had with regards to secrets. She'd never catch him in a more receptive frame of mind.

“If it makes you feel any better, other than drugging me and using paralysis spells, they didn't hurt me,” Eola sighed. “They didn't... you know.”

“No?” Madanach said, torn between relief and confusion. “But... what happened to your clothes??” 

“Scattered all over that cart that got wrecked,” Eola admitted. “It's what happens when you turn into a werewolf and don't get changed first.”

Madanach looked at her for a full five seconds and must have blinked once if that. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly, too quietly. “For a moment there, I thought you'd just admitted to being a werewolf.”

“I did,” said Eola, staring him down the way Delphine did with Cicero when he was in trouble. “I'm a werewolf. It's how I got away. Werewolves need stronger doses, and they didn't realise the sleeping potion had worn off. When I heard Vilkas and Ria attack the cart and then Cicero on Odahviing, I changed and tore the cultists apart. I'm sorry, I should have told you ages ago but...”

“How long have you been a werewolf exactly?” Madanach asked, still sounding eerily calm.

“Since the summer,” Eola said. Well, if she was doing the whole open and honest thing... “It wasn't intentional! But it happened, and, well... Look the guy who infected me's dead, Cicero killed him, you don't need to get all vengeful on my behalf.”

“Since the...” Madanach slowly turned from Eola to Elisif, the pieces slotting into place. “Did you know about this?? Is that why... is that why you were so against me having werewolves killed? You knew she was one?? Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Yes, I knew!” Elisif shot back, and Eola gave her full credit for not backing down. “And no I wasn't going to, because she asked me not to and it's no one else's business but hers!”

“The Void it's not, she's my daughter!” Madanach cried. 

“She's a grown woman!” Elisif cried, throwing up her hands. 

Kaie knelt next to the chair, rolling her eyes as the argument developed. “Well, that was nice while it lasted,” she sighed, swiping two tumblers and a bottle of Madanach's best jenever from the dresser. “Shot? Don't have any tonic or citron handy, I'm afraid.”

“Yes. Sithis yes, hit me with it,” Eola sighed, gratefully accepting a double measure of jenever and casting frost magic around the edge of the glass in the traditional Reach style. “Slanta!”

Kaie clinked her glass against her sister's and they downed the shots in unison, both shivering at the aftertaste.

“Needed that,” Eola rasped. She looked at Kaie, already grinning and looking a little flushed. “You're taking this awfully well, I must say.”

Kaie just shrugged. “Worse things out there than you being a werewolf. After this year just gone, I've frankly given up on you ever being normal. In fact, you were never normal. I'd say you were some sort of Daedric changeling but you're too much like Da for that. Pigheaded, headstrong, stubborn...”

“I'm not stubborn!” Eola protested. Kaie just smirked, pouring them both more jenever. 

“You are too, bear-breath. Or maybe wolf-breath's more appropriate, hmm?”

“I am literally never going to hear the end of this, am I?” Eola sighed. Kaie shook her head, grinning.

“Nope! Slanta, and down the hatch, little sister.” They both drank, and this time the aftertaste was less burny and more just the prelude to a nice happy warm feeling draping itself over them like a blanket.

“So,” Kaie whispered. “What's it like? You know, being a werewolf?”

“Not any different, really,” Eola said, trying to recall what it had been like not being one. “Knackers your sleep cycles, but on the other hand you don't really get tired. You don't get sick either and poison's less effective. Oh, and it's kinda fun going running across the tundra in wolf form. Nothing faster! Except maybe a dragon...”

“Wow,” Kaie breathed. “That's awesome. I wish I could be one, but I think Da would have a fit, plus I don't think it's a good idea for the future Reach-Queen to be a werewolf. You're so lucky, you know.”

“Lucky?” Eola said wearily. “I just got attacked by some weird cultists because of who my boyfriend is, and the bastards killed two friends including a brother I never knew I had. I'm not feeling the luck.”

“You get to have adventures,” said Kaie softly. “You get to have a life. You get to do whatever you want and Da just lets you. Whereas I've got to be responsible and set an example because I'm going to be queen one day. I wish it was you, you know. You'd be so much better at it than me.”

Eola reached for the jenever bottle again, shuddering at the very thought. Namira, no, Namira's followers were not intended for the limelight! Darkness! Shadows! Operating in the background! That was what she was good at, not being part of a royal family. A very dysfunctional royal family.

“You're my wife, dammit!” Madanach was shouting at Elisif.

“Not if you talk to me like that, I won't be!” Elisif shouted back. “Going back to Solitude without you is always an option, Madanach!”

“If this is what kingship does to you, I want no part of it,” Eola muttered.

“You say that like he wasn't always like this,” Kaie sighed.

“Elisif, don't you... don't you walk away from me!” Madanach was storming after Elisif, who was already making for the door, head held high.

“So stop me,” Elisif hissed, reaching for the door handle. Madanach did just that, closing in on Elisif and grabbing her by the wrist, spinning her round and pushing her up against the door.

“You're my wife,” he growled. “Where you go, I go.” Then he kissed her and Elisif went quiet apart from the odd little squeaking noise as she relaxed and began to kiss him back.

“Sithis help me,” Kaie said, pouring herself another drink. “Don't tell me it turned into one of those arguments that ends up in bed. Quick, keel over dramatically. That'll distract him.”

Eola promptly knocked back the jenever shot she was holding. Then, as the room began to spin, she belatedly realised that combining three shots of very strong jenever with the after-effects of whatever the cultists gave her was probably not a good idea, even for a werewolf. Closing her eyes, she slid to the floor, sweet unconsciousness claiming her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

When she woke up, the room was blessedly quiet. She was tucked up in her father's double bed, mercifully clad in a night shift that was probably Elisif's, and best of all, her father, stepmother and sister were nowhere in sight.

Delphine was stretched out on the bed next to her, stroking her cheek. On the other side was Cicero, sitting in a chair and smiling at her. He had a Cure Poison potion in his hands which he was waving suggestively at her.

“You know I love you, right?” she gasped, taking it off him and downing it. Immediately the throbbing headache began to clear. 

“Cicero knows, my sweet,” he said, taking the bottle off her and kissing her hand. “Cicero loves you too.”

Eola smiled, lying back in the pillows and turning to kiss Delphine. “Hey. How's everyone? Da was being a pain over the whole werewolf thing so Kaie and I did jenever shots.”

“Yes, with his finest Druadach Special no less. He was still arguing with Kaie over it when we came in. Eola, is anyone in your family capable of communicating in any way that isn't a massive argument?” Delphine raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering what she was getting herself into.

“Welcome to the joy of in-laws,” Eola murmured sleepily. “Guess I should be glad Stelmaria reserves all her nagging for Cicero.”

“Cicero is not ill. Cicero does not look pale. Cicero is sleeping well. Cicero is eating well.” Cicero intoned wearily. “Yes, including the vegetables. No, Cicero is not cold in that outfit. Cicero did not think he would ever miss the Night Mother's silence.” He planted his head face down on the mattress, clearly done with families for the day.

Delphine ruffled his hair, clearly sympathising. “There, there. It is only twice a week and one of those times, Kodlak is there to distract her.”

Cicero went still at the mention of Kodlak's name.

“They attacked Jorrvaskr too,” he said softly. “Cicero's papa, nearly killed. Because they were looking for me. Because of this... Miraak.”

Delphine's face lost its smile at the mention of his name. “Yes. They were. I don't like this. I don't like it at all. Two unrelated Dragonborns at a time. That's never happened before. And you say Odahviing fought him? When?”

“Cicero isn't sure. A long time ago, he thinks, Odahviing says it was in his youth. Before he died, certainly.”

“But that was centuries ago, wasn't it?” Eola asked, trying to recall what she knew of dragons. More than a lot of people, but not as much as she should do, really. 

“During the Dragon War, I imagine. Maybe even before,” said Delphine, brooding. “I need to talk to Esbern, see what he knows. And then we all need to see what Odahviing can tell us. Then... I think we need to take a little trip to Solstheim. Well. I say we, but... damn, Cicero, I can't go, can I. Not with the Temple out of action and Eola like this. The Brotherhood needs its Listener.”

“Yes it does,” said Cicero, taking Delphine's hand. “Cicero will not hear of his sweetling coming to Solstheim with him. Either of them. Miraak is attacking Cicero's loved ones, so Cicero will not take them into danger with him. Cicero goes alone, Listener.”

“Like the Void you will,” Delphine cried, and whether she was more horrified for him or for the people of Solstheim, Eola couldn't rightly have said. “Do you even know anything about Solstheim?”

“It is an island,” said Cicero, proud of knowing something about the place. “Probably cold, and sounding Nordic, so Nords live there, yes? It is probably just like Skyrim.”

“It's part of Morrowind,” Delphine sighed. “Skyrim gave it to the Dunmer after the Red Year. Red Mountain never stopped erupting, it's constantly spewing ash and that ash is falling all over southern Solstheim. Glaciers in the north, ash in the south and the only real town is a failing Dunmer mining village and port called Raven Rock. It is nothing like Skyrim!”

Silence. And then...

“Cicero doesn't mind Dunmer?” Cicero said hesitantly. Delphine uttered a strangled cry, falling back on to the pillows with a hand over her eyes.

“Are Vilkas and Ria still here?” Eola asked, keen to change the subject. “Be nice to see them before they go.”

“They are, Madanach's offered them a night at the Keep for free,” said Delphine, looking thoughtful. “Hmm. I think we can do better than that. Eola, do you think you're ready to travel back? Cicero's got you some Shrouded Armour from the Temple.”

“Namira, yes, I would love to get away from my insane blood kin and back with my reasonable and civilised other Family again,” Eola sighed. “I will take Ingun's babbling and Ralof trying to be all manly-man over my father laying down the law and my sister whining about always having to be the responsible one any day. And I had a brother. Then lost him, and I'll never get the chance to know him properly.” Eola closed her eyes, feeling the tears prickling again. Argis, who'd always been good for a hug and who'd listened sympathetically to the whining about her family – and he'd been part of it. No wonder he'd listened. So many things she wanted to ask him, and now she never could.

Movement to her right and Cicero was leaning over, resting his head against hers. Delphine on her other side, placing a kiss on her cheek.

“Then let's go home,” she whispered. Eola couldn't agree more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very glad I had her rescued. With Cicero hunting on Odahviing and two Companions taking the same route as the cultists, it beggared belief that none of them would intercept, especially with the Companions recognising the cultists.
> 
> Wasn't intending the werewolf reveal either, it just sort of happened, but I couldn't in all honesty have Madanach thinking they'd abused his daughter when in fact it's just because she was a werewolf. Especially given that Elisif knows and was right there. Ah well.
> 
> Glossary:
> 
> Maar-Dinok - literally Terror-Death, probably means terrifying bringer of death. Madanach would no doubt be very pleased that his name is that badass in Dovah.
> 
> Slanta - traditional Reachman toast, as invented by me and based on Slainte, the traditional Irish toast.
> 
> Next chapter - the plan of attack on Solstheim takes form.


	3. Guardian, Traitor and Blades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the immediate crisis dealt with, it's time to start planning an attack on Miraak, and that's helped enormously when you have someone on hand who was there first time around. What is revealed doesn't make Miraak look any less formidable, leading Delphine to make some unlikely recruiting choices...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not an awful lot of action this time, but some much needed backstory including an angsty dragon. Nothing sadder than an angsty dragon, let me tell you.

Madanach and Kaie were still going at it when Delphine and Cicero helped Eola out into the palace at large, now fully dressed in a set of Brotherhood armour, apart from the cowl.

“Your sister was in a delicate and fragile state, she did not need you pouring jenever down her throat!” Madanach was shouting.

“There is nothing delicate or fragile about my sister!” Kaie shouted back. “She's killed more people than the pair of us put together.”

“Yes, and today someone nearly killed her, and they did kill two other innocent citizens, one of which was my son!” Madanach cried. “I've lost enough of my children, I don't need to lose any more!”

“Da,” said Eola softly. Madanach turned from berating Kaie to where Eola was shuffling into view, clinging on to Cicero. Delphine slipped quietly off to one side, away from the limelight. Old habits died hard.

“You should not be out of bed, look at the state of you,” Madanach began. Eola stood her ground, tightening her grip on Cicero, and Elisif emerged from where she'd been watching proceedings, having long since given up on persuading Madanach to be reasonable.

“I'm fine,” said Eola firmly. “And... and Delphine's taking me home. She's worried about me.”

Madanach's face fell at this but he just nodded.

“She's right to be. I'm glad... I'm glad you've got her looking out for you, I don't think we'd have got you back in one piece without her and the Dragonborn here. I'm glad you've got them both.”

“Not going to force me to marry one of them or be disowned then,” said Eola, hoping he'd meant it earlier. Madanach laughed softly. 

“No. As my wife keeps telling me, you and Kaie, you're both adults. You live your lives the way you want to, and try not to bring the family name into any more disrepute than it already is, and I'm not going to judge. I've lost enough children to my enemies, I can't afford to lose any more.”

He held out his arms and she went into them gladly, finally feeling a sense of relief. It wasn't all right, was never going to be, not with her unknown brother gone, not with the Temple wrecked and the cultists still out there. But her father still loved her and wasn't interfering with her life any more. It was something.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Madanach kissed her forehead and held her tight.

“You're my little girl, you deserve to be happy. And I'm going to look into finding a cure for that other thing too, don't you worry.”

“But I don't wan-” Eola gave up. If it helped him deal with it, so be it. Kodlak would appreciate the results, and she'd got nowhere on her own. If her father started pulling strings on her behalf, it wouldn't hurt, right? In the event of him finding something, she'd deal with it then. She'd spent enough time arguing with him as it was.

“Love you, Da,” she said softly, kissing him on the cheek. He hugged her and let her go, to where Kaie was waiting with Elisif.

“I'm going to write and send descriptions of these monsters to all the other Jarls,” Elisif promised. “Any more of them come to Skyrim, we'll fight them on sight. They're not killing anyone else.”

“Thanks,” Eola said, giving another hug to her stepmother. “You're awesome. I'm glad you married Da.”

“So am I. Most of the time, anyway,” said Elisif, grinning at Madanach, who just rolled his eyes.

Next was Kaie, and this was a bit weird to be hugging a sister who'd mostly disapproved of her most of her life, but all the same, nice.

“You come back and visit more often,” Kaie told her. “We can get drunk together and complain about Da.”

“Not on my Druadach Special, you won't be!” Madanach put in. “Pay for your own damn booze.”

“Yes, Da,” both girls chorused. Madanach made a mental note to invest in a drinks cabinet with a Master lock on it and possibly look into refining rune spells so they were smaller and less obvious.

Vilkas and Ria were hanging around. They'd not been told to go, but not been told to stay either. After collecting the princely sum of 700 septims each plus an ebony battleaxe for Vilkas and a glass sword with a shock enchantment on it for Ria, the two of them had taken a quiet seat at the table near the Mournful Throne and just quietly listened to the House of Madanach at work. Or at least they were until Delphine slipped over, taking a seat opposite them without either realising she was even there until she was smiling across the table at them, helping herself to some seared slaughterfish.

“I haven't thanked you yet for helping Cicero find Eola,” she said calmly. “Not sure he'd have seen that carriage properly from dragonback, not without a fight already in progress. I'm glad you found her.”

“That's quite all right,” said Vilkas, wary but not wanting to annoy the Dark Brotherhood's Listener either. “Those cultists clearly meant no good. I don't know why they're targeting Cicero, but as Dragonborns go, I'd rather have one who mostly behaves himself and if he's not going to stop murdering any time soon, at least can be encouraged to cull scum who deserve it. This Miraak, he's evil.”

“And powerful,” said Ria softly. “We only stopped that carriage because I recognised the driver and stopped to say hello. But he didn't recognise me and when we killed the cultists, it turns out he didn't remember leaving Markarth. I don't know what power these cultists have, but I'll take Cicero over a power-hungry mind controller any day.”

“Cicero said something about a note,” said Delphine. “Mind if I take a look?”

Ria passed it back over. Delphine read it, frowning, before passing it back.

“Not good,” she said softly. “Not good at all.”

“What isn't?” Ria asked. “Doesn't it tell us where to find him?”

“Yes,” said Delphine. “That's what worries me. Were I planning to have someone removed permanently, the last thing I'd do would be to send people publicly and ostentatiously with a note in their pockets saying who'd sent them and where we were based. But if I wanted their attention, or to lure them into a trap – sending someone expendable to attack their loved ones with false or misleading orders in their pockets would be exactly what I'd plan. He wants Cicero's attention. He wants to draw him out, wants him to go to Solstheim. Cicero's set on going, I can't stop him but I can't go with him either, I'm needed here to sort this mess out and look after Eola.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Ria asked. Delphine looked genuinely concerned about all this, and she had good reason to be. If anyone would know anything about effective ways of eliminating someone, Delphine would. If she thought this might be a trap, there was a good chance it probably was. “Kodlak doesn't want Cicero to die either, he says the Companions will help any way we can.”

“Aye,” said Vilkas. “They attack one of us, they attack all of us. We're not going to sit idle while this other Dragonborn tries to kill our Harbinger's son.”

“That's good to know,” said Delphine. “Is Kodlak going to be able to spare you both for a few weeks? Cicero's going, but he's not going alone if I can help it.”

Ria looked at Vilkas hopefully. Vilkas looked back, and when she smiled at him like that... hard to say no. Besides, he'd not had a proper adventure in months. Let this Miraak attack the heirs of Ysgramor. He'd learn to his cost that true Nords were not to be trifled with. 

“For this, I don't think he'll mind at all,” said Vilkas. “What did you have in mind?”

Delphine leaned a little closer, smile on her face. “Fancy seeing the inside of a Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once assurances had been given to the two Companions that they were not being recruited into the Dark Brotherhood, nor would they be required to do anything unethical or illegal, they'd let their curiosity get the better off them and agreed to go along with Delphine. Goodbyes had been said, and all five of them had left the city. Once over the bridge and up the hill, Delphine told Cicero to call Odahviing.

Seconds later, the dragon was there, landing on the road ahead and making the ground shake.

“You called, Ziizahro?”

“I will never get used to a dragon just coming when called like that,” Ria whispered to Vilkas.

“I know,” Vilkas murmured back. “Frightening to have such power in their hands.” The only saving grace was that the power in question at least hadn't been terribly misused – Vilkas was no great lover of the Stormcloaks and getting rid of the Thalmor was virtually a public service.

“Odahviing, we need a favour,” Delphine called up to him. She'd made a point of spending more time in the courtyard training lately, and then sitting down and talking to Odahviing afterwards. She wouldn't say they were exactly friends, but things had warmed up considerably. “We've got guests. Can you take them and Eola up to the courtyard for us? Then come back for me and Cicero.”

“Guests?” Odahviing looked warily at Vilkas and Ria. “These two are friends of Ziizahro, yes, but not Vul Zeymah. You are sure about this, bringing them to our strunmah?”

“That's why I'm asking you to fly them in, so they don't know where the real entrance is,” said Delphine. “Can't be too careful, but they do need to come with us. We need their help. Rather, Cicero does.”

“It's true, it's true!” Cicero said, bouncing up and down. “They're going to help humble Cicero kill the impostor Miraak.”

Odahviing snorted, disbelieving. “It will take more than two Zeymahzinne to do that. But if you wish it, Huzrahi, I will do it.” He lowered his head so they could all get on, Eola first then Ria then Vilkas, who wasn't looking at all sure about this. 

“Do not fear, little wolfman,” Odahviing laughed, sensing his discomfort. “The journey is a short one. Hold on tight!” Odahviing took off, leaving dust in his wake.

True enough, the journey was not a long one and seconds later, Odahviing came in to land in a courtyard, amidst several vine and moss covered pavilions of a design unfamiliar to either Companion. Eola however seemed right at home.

“No place like home,” she sighed, sliding off Odahviing and helping Ria and Vilkas off his back. Odahviing took off in another flurry of dust and when it finally cleared, both Companions took a good look around.

The courtyard was clearly used for training purposes, as the archery targets and training dummies indicated. Not to mention the eleven year old boy in Shrouded Robes and the blonde Nord in Shrouded Armour who'd been in the middle of archery practice.

“Eola!” the boy cried. “You're home!” He ran up to hug her. “Delphine said you'd been taken prisoner and the Temple attacked – was it true?”

“Yeah,” said Eola, not wanting to go over the details in case she started crying again. “But Cicero and Odahviing went after them. They didn't get far. Aventus, this is – oh for Sithis' sake.”

Vilkas had unsheathed his new battleaxe and was growling at the other Nord, who'd produced his own Dwemer warhammer in response.

“What are you doing here, traitor?” Vilkas snarled. “I was led to believe you'd met the end you deserve!”

“I could ask the same of you!” Ralof shouted back. “Don't tell me Delphine's recruited you two as well.”

“We're not assassins!” Ria protested. “We're guests! Delphine needs our help.”

“Clearly she doesn't trust her own people,” Vilkas sneered. “Looking at her recruiting choices, I can see why.”

“Why you little-” Ralof began, advancing, and things could have turned nasty if Eola hadn't cast a lightning bolt into the space between the two men.

“All right, that is enough,” Eola said tersely. “I have had a very stressful day, and I do not need to come home to actual fighting. Ralof, they're here on Delphine's say-so, you don't have to like it but you do have to bear it until they leave, which will be in a day or so, I imagine. Vilkas, Ria, Ralof's one of us. Weapons down, _now_.”

Slowly, weapons were lowered, although Ralof and Vilkas were still glaring at each other, hackles raised. Odahviing returned from his second trip at that point, Cicero and Delphine dismounting. Odahviing, his job done, took off, wheeled around the Karthspire and then came in to land on the pavilion roof, wings and tail draping off it as he basked in the sunlight. 

“Ah. You met Ralof then,” was all Delphine said on seeing the stand-off.

“I can't believe you gave him another chance,” said Vilkas through gritted teeth.

“He's got skills,” Delphine said, shrugging. “He was too good to waste. Come on, let's get inside. Cicero, show them around, get them a room each, introduce them. Aventus, why don't you go as well, give Cicero a hand. Ralof, I'll need you to help Eola back to her room, then tell Ingun we've got two extra for dinner tonight and help her if she needs it. Also we're eating out here tonight. I'll want to discuss things, and I'll be wanting Odahviing's input.”

“You want to know what I know of Miraak,” said Odahviing, shifting on top of the stone roof. “You may change your mind about fighting him when I have told you, Huzrahi.”

“Cicero won't!” Cicero piped up. “Desecrating Miraak has offended Cicero greatly this day. So Cicero shall find him and kill him. Slowly.” He purred the last word in a low rasp that sent chills down everyone's spine.

“Can I borrow him tonight?” Eola squeaked, suddenly breathless.

“I was thinking we could share,” said Delphine, also looking a little flushed. 

“Done,” said Eola, not at all averse to having a little assistance in tearing Cicero's clothes off that evening. Cicero just grinned, bouncing over to where Vilkas and Ria were looking extremely uneasy and taking them both by the hand, exclaiming for them to follow Cicero, he would find them food and lodgings and a bath, he could not have his guests be neglected, could he? Vilkas kept looking back at Delphine uneasily over his shoulder as he was led off. Ria's attention had been caught by the word bath.

“You've got a water pump in here?” she asked hopefully.

“In a manner of speaking,” Cicero purred, leading them to the living quarters. “Here, here! This is our bath house.”

“What is this?” Vilkas whispered, as Cicero showed them a large bath with bronze taps. A flick of his wrists later and water was coming from both.

“There is hot and there is cold,” Cicero grinned. “Although if no one has stoked the boiler, it is mostly just cold. Cicero shall go and check on that now for you. We also have showers through that door and down the corridor are the necessary closets. Feel free to explore! That cupboard has towels, leave them in the basket if they need cleaning.”

Cicero ran off to check on the boiler (and also ensure the Night Mother's chapel was securely locked, although neither Vilkas nor Ria knew that), leaving the two Companions to inspect the Dark Brotherhood's bathroom facilities. 

“How – where did all this even come from?” Vilkas asked, stunned. “Did I hear rightly that there's indoor privies??”

“Well, killing an Emperor and a rebel leader must pay well,” said Ria, squealing as the water from one tap starting warming up. “Mara, hot water and a proper bath! I've not seen these since I left Cyrodiil! Vilkas, I'm sorry, I have to use this, I have to. Oh look at all these alchemical bath lotions!! Hair wash, body wash, face wash, _they have the one that makes bubbles!!!_ ”

“Is that all it takes to impress you?” Vilkas sighed. “An alchemical potion that when poured into a bath makes bubbles?”

“Bubbles!” Ria almost sobbed, pouring a handful of the potion into the bath, squealing as the water began to froth. “Oh, you're not Imperial, you don't understand!”

A vague memory of his early childhood in Cyrodiil flashed through Vilkas' mind. Of a Cyrodiilic bathroom, sitting in warm water with Farkas and bubbles and foam everywhere while their mother laughed. That was before she died and Jergen came for them, of course. He'd repressed most of the memories, but every so often one would come back to him. For once, it didn't hurt. Not with Ria looking up at him and laughing. 

“As long as you're happy,” Vilkas told her, somehow unable to stop smiling. She did look up then, smile still in place and their eyes met. She looked at him strangely, which put him on the defensive again.

“What?” he asked. “Something in my hair?”

“No,” said Ria, confused. “I just... can't remember the last time I saw you smile.”

There really wasn't a lot for Vilkas to say to that, so he took his leave.

“I should let you have a bath in peace. I'll be in my room if you need anything.” Before things could get any more awkward, he left, leaving Ria wondering what that was all about.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner was held outside in the courtyard, a collapsible pair of wooden tables and benches being found from somewhere and dinner set up. It was a surprisingly civilised affair, despite Ralof and Vilkas pointedly ignoring each other, with not even Odahviing lounging on the pavilion roof and devouring an entire goat carcass spoiling the mood. Cicero and Ria told the story of the Rescuing of Eola, with Aventus and Ingun both listening with wide-eyes, eager for all the gory details or at least the ones Delphine didn't deem too brutal for the dinner table, and then Vilkas followed up with a recounting of the Battle of Jorrvaskr.

Finally the meal was done and plates pushed to one side for cleaning later. The entertainment done, it was time to get down to business.

“So, we all know why we're here,” said Delphine. “We all know what happened today. Question is who did it, why and what do we do about it.”

“Kill them!” Cicero shrieked. “Kill the filthy defiler!”

Murmurs of agreement round the entire table.

“Yes, quite,” said Delphine. “Question is, how? We don't know a lot about this man. Only that he may well be Dragonborn, lives on Solstheim, and is a mage of some considerable power with his own cult. This won't be an easy kill. Fortunately we're not completely in the dark. Esbern, you said you had something for us.”

“I did,” said Esbern, wiping his hands on his napkin and feeling around in his pockets for the book he'd located in the Blades library. “Well, I think it is anyway. Miraak's not named and the whole thing took place well before the Blades' time. Nevertheless it is the tale of an ancient battle on Solstheim, and I think it may still be relevant. It's an old folk-tale told by the Skaal – that's the tribe of Nords that live on Solstheim, although they've developed very differently to their kinfolk here. They only worship one god, called by them the All-Maker, roughly equivalent to Akatosh or Anu, and the key component of their religion is oneness with Nature, living in harmony with their environment and not taking more than they need.”

“Only one god??” Eola asked, surprised. “Come on, you can't have life without death, everyone knows that. We're born in blood and pain, we usually die that way too.”

“They do when I kill them!” Cicero giggled. Ralof laughed and slapped him on the back.

“The best way to go!” he laughed.

“Yes, well, Talos would probably agree with you, but it's a perfectly valid philosophy with many good points,” Esbern sighed.

“Yeah, but one god for life and death??” Eola protested. “That's like saying Akatosh and Alduin are the same guy.”

“Actually there's a school of thought that claims exactly that,” said Ingun. “I was reading about it a few weeks ago...”

“We really are down to Eight Divines then,” Cicero smirked, to general laughter and a lot of raised glasses.

“Back to the folk-tale,” said Delphine loudly. “Esbern, you were saying.”

“Yes, yes of course,” said Esbern, flipping through a book entitled _The Guardian and the Traitor_. “Briefly, the tale seems to concern a legend from the time of the Dragon Cult, before the Dragon War started, when Dragon Priests ruled over humanity. It seems Solstheim was ruled by one such priest who is not named, referred to only as the Traitor. Doesn't say if he was a Dragonborn or not, but he was clearly skilled in the Thu'um. It appears he turned to the worship of the Daedric Lord Hermaeus Mora, known as Herma-Mora to the Skaal, and began to plot against the dragons.”

“Is that a bad thing now?” Cicero asked, confused. “Delphine is always telling me the dragon cult were nasty people.”

“Not in this story,” said Esbern. “Merely because the Traitor was plotting against the Dragon Cult does not mean his intentions were benign, although that does not make the Dragon Cult heroes either. Nevertheless this tale has a hero, known as the Guardian, another Dragon Priest, who discovered the plot and engaged the Traitor in a terrible battle so violent, Solstheim was ripped from the mainland and became an island. The author of this book says that's pure fantasy, but not necessarily if you consider that at the time, Morrowind and Skyrim would have been one country, and that the waters separating Solstheim and Vvardenfell are known to be shallow. It is entirely feasible it was once attached to the mainland.”

“Morrowind as part of Skyrim,” said Ria softly. “That seems so hard to imagine.”

“A year ago, this place was part of Skyrim too,” said Ralof, his face sombre as he remembered just how the Reach had won its independence. “Times change.”

“What happened next?” Delphine asked. “I take it it was one of those battles where neither side won or lost.”

“Correct,” said Esbern. “The battle went on for days, but the Guardian eventually got the better of the Traitor. He was about to strike the killing blow when Hermaeus Mora snatched him away. He was never seen again. The dragons appointed the Guardian as ruler of Skyrim after making him swear to be always vigilant against the Traitor's return, and left him in charge. His reign's remembered as something of a golden age by all accounts. Perhaps it was. Either way, the Skaal remember the tale and always keep watch against Mora's machinations, so that the Traitor cannot return. I do not know if it really is Miraak. But it might be.”

“It's him,” Odahviing growled, and the dragon was no longer sprawling but curled into a foetal position. If dragons could look frightened, he would be. “That account leaves many things out but it's him. I remember... I remember. Miraak was a skilled Dragon Priest, mighty in the Thu'um – what took the other priests years to master he learned in minutes. We had seen nothing like it before, and we named him Dovahkiin – Dragonborn. He took delight in his gift and in his power, he grew proud. In his arrogance, he sought to challenge us all. It was his oldest friend, a man called Vahlok, who finally discovered he was plotting to overthrow Alduin himself and take his place.”

All eyes turned to Cicero, who went pink, hunching his shoulders.

“Cicero did not want to take Alduin's place!” Cicero wailed. “Cicero likes this world! Cicero only accepted Odahviing's service because Odahviing was very firm on the subject! Cicero is loyal!”

“Yes, sweetie, I know you are,” said Delphine gently, stroking Cicero's hair. “You're a true Kul-se-Monahvulon, I know. Odahviing, go on. What then?”

“Vahlok was a good man, a wise man,” said Odahviing fondly. “He was not as skilled in the Thu'um as Miraak but he was a very talented mage and a most capable leader. He lead an army to fight Miraak and his followers, composed of both mages and Dov. I was one of them, eager to teach this pahlaan usurper a lesson. The lesson learnt was mine.”

Silence around the table. No one had ever seen a dragon look that defeated before.

“But you're still here, alive – you survived until the Akaviri came,” said Delphine softly, breaking the silence. “Didn't Vahlok win and Miraak vanish?”

“He did, but at a great cost in lives on both sides,” said Odahviing. “Miraak tapped power even most Dov will not touch. The power not just to gain victory over the body, but to take control of the mind. Willing service to a superior Thu'um is one thing, but he compelled service from the unwilling. He compelled me.”

Odahviing lowered his head, neck hanging down and nose next to Cicero who began stroking him, eyes wide and a little tearful. 

“His Thu'um overrode all will of my own and turned me against Vahlok, me and others of the Dov. So we fought against our own side and all would have been lost if Vahlok had not managed to summon creatures of his own and get to Miraak's side. Vahlok was a master of Illusion magic, he knew a few secrets too and he resisted Miraak's Thu'um. Long did they do battle below ground, in Miraak's hidden temple, until finally Vahlok was poised to end him. Then Miraak escaped into Mora's realm. His hold on us broke as he did and in our fury we savaged those of this followers that remained. It was that which made Solstheim an island, not Miraak. Then Vahlok emerged and we begged his forgiveness. He said there was nothing to forgive – the fault was Miraak's, not ours. Dov do not cry but I would have for him. He was furious at Miraak and swore that if he had to wait in Solstheim for eternity to stop him coming back, he would. He swore the most solemn oath that Miraak would never return while the Dragon Cult endured, while Alduin was Thur, and Akatosh heard the oath and hallowed it. We declared Vahlok as Solstheim's ruler, and then the Dov left, all swearing we would not return to the scene of our humiliation. Vahlok was my friend, but I could not face him after letting him down. We of the Dov do not take such things well. It is hard for us, Ziizahro.”

“Odahviing...” Cicero breathed, kissing the dragon's nose. “Odahviing, it was not your fault, you could not help it...”

“I should have resisted!” Odahviing roared, making the cutlery on the table shake. “I should have fought it off, mastered it, torn him apart for his tahrovin! Not... not been ensnared by it and attacked my friends.” He closed his eyes, a low growl rumbling in his throat as Cicero kept stroking his scales. “Krosis. To hear that he is back and that his followers are using the same tricks he used to use – this is ill news, Ziizahro. Thuri, little frightens me – but I fear Miraak.”

For a few moments, no one spoke. All were digesting this news – a Dragonborn that could use the Thu'um to control people, turning ally against ally, friend against friend, and that even dragons feared.

“Draconic mind control,” Delphine whispered. “It does exist.”

Esbern nodded grimly. “All the old stories implied it could be done, although it was said to be rare. It looks like Miraak found out how.”

“So how do we stop him.” That was Vilkas, looking determined as anyone. “He will not stop at Solstheim, will he.”

“No,” said Delphine, staring into space, trying to think of a plan. Damned if she could though. “He's already making inroads, and though Elisif will have the country on guard, that's no help if he can enslave the guards or indeed the Jarls. I don't want to walk right into his trap, but I don't see we can let it go either. This is about more than avenging fallen comrades now.”

“Miraak could not return while Alduin was Thur,” Cicero whispered, looking absolutely wrecked. “This is all Cicero's fault. Cicero is sorry, Odahviing!” He clung on to Odahviing's face, heartbroken.

“You were not to know,” Odahviing murmured. “I did not think of it either – it has been a long time. Zeymahi, do not blame yourself.”

“Cicero will put it right!” Cicero cried. “Cicero will go to Solstheim and avenge you, Cicero will finish what Vahlok could not if he has to go to Oblivion to do it!”

“You might have to,” said Esbern. “That would be where Miraak likely fled to and where he's been all these years. Vahlok's oath notwithstanding, you have to remember that Miraak did not challenge Alduin directly, not like you did. When faced with opposition, he nearly lost and had to flee into Mora's realm. Only now Alduin is dead has he returned, and I don't think that oath bound him. The Dragon Cult was defeated centuries ago, Alduin was lost on the winds of time all that time with no dragons left in Tamriel to be Thur over. Miraak remained in Oblivion and did nothing. He feared Alduin... and he fears you, Cicero. Why else try to draw you out, bring you to his home ground? He fears he'd never win against you on yours.”

“He will not win against me anywhere!” Cicero growled. “He has killed Cicero's friends, desecrated Mother's Temple, hurt Cicero's sister, and now Cicero finds that Miraak hurt Cicero's Dovah too?? Cicero _will not have it._ ”

“Which brings us back to our original problem,” said Delphine thoughtfully. “How do we kill him?”

“STABBING!” Cicero cried, looking gleeful. “STABBING AND FIRE!”

“Cici, you can't just sneak up on him and slice his throat open,” Eola sighed. “He's a Dragon Priest. He's not some bandit or shopkeeper.”

“I know!” Cicero squealed. “Think of the challenge, sister!”

“We do have one advantage,” said Esbern thoughtfully. “Your sword, Cicero. Dragonbane. It was designed for dragons in particular. How it works is that the enchantment strikes at the dragon's very soul. Well, most of the time, the only foe you'll fight with one of those is a dragon. Not, however, if you're fighting a fellow Dragonborn.”

Cicero's eyes lit up at that. “Ooh! Oooh! You mean all the shiny things the Blades used to fight dragons would work on Miraak too? _Delightful!_ Fear not, my Listener. Cicero shall bring this Miraak down for you.”

“Blades?” Ria asked, confused. “There's no Blades any more.”

“What have the Blades got to do with you anyway?” Vilkas asked, scratching his head. “You're the Dark Brotherhood.”

“Look around you,” said Delphine softly. “You think this is the Dark Brotherhood's work? This Temple is centuries old, built using designs and knowledge from Akavir itself. The Blades built it, Vilkas, the ancient Akaviri warriors who hunted dragons with the aid of the ultimate dragonslayer, the Dragonborn. We guarded them all from Reman Cyrodiil onwards, we guarded the Septim Dynasty, Ria. After the Oblivion Crisis, we started looking again, seeking those who seemed more than human, those with voices to challenge the gods themselves. Right up until we were disbanded and the Thalmor hunted us down. Before I was the Night Mother's, I was a Blade – so was Esbern. And we still protect the Dragonborn.”

She took Cicero's hand, and he raised it to his lips and kissed it. Ria was still staring at the Temple around her.

“This was a Blades Temple,” she gasped. “Wow.”

“No wonder it looks nothing like I'd expect a Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary to look,” said Vilkas, actually deigning to look like he approved.

“What were you expecting, skulls, blood and the screams of our victims in the background?” Ralof asked, sounding a little sarcastic.

“To be fair, Astrid's Sanctuary is exactly like that,” Eola admitted. “But not this one, this one's nice.”

“It's a Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary, it's not-” Vilkas began.

“It really is, I love the bathrooms!” Ria interrupted.

“If we could get back on topic?” Delphine sighed. “Yes, we've got Blades things that Miraak won't be expecting because the Blades didn't form until years after he left Tamriel, but he'll have things we don't know about either. He's had centuries in Hermaeus Mora's realm to gain power, he'll have used that time. So we need to find someone who's dealt with Mora themselves, someone we can trust, ideally someone who knows a thing or two about Morrowind.” 

“Well I don't know anyone like that, do you Vilkas?” Ria asked, wondering where on earth they'd find someone who met all those criteria.

Delphine just smiled. “Don't worry. I know two of them – and they both work for me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Later on, and the meal had broken up into general chitchat, tales of murder and blood, Ralof teasing Cicero, who cooed and giggled and snuggled next to him in a way that was frankly sickening, Ingun expounding at length on a new poison she was working on, only looking a little sombre as she mentioned Muiri had been helping her and she supposed she was on her own now, Odahviing taking off for a night flight, presumably to get Miraak out of his head, and Eola heading for bed, whether hers or someone else's was a matter for debate. The old man, Esbern, had also left, as had the boy Aventus. A pity, Vilkas had liked Esbern. Practical. Knowledgeable. In possession of honour and a moral compass, two things in short supply around here. To think he was here eating and drinking with the Dark Brotherhood of all people. As if they were friends.

He was never going to be one of them, he was sure of that. He'd left the table and gone to watch the sun set behind the Druadachs. Sky Haven Temple might be high up, but so were the other mountains and night fell quickly in this rugged land.

The more time Vilkas spent in the Reach, the more he began to be convinced this land had never truly been part of Skyrim. The Nords had just occupied it for a while, that was all.

“You OK?” Ria asked gently, coming to sit next to him. She passed him a bottle of mead, partner to the one she held in her hands. “It's a lot to take in. You don't have to stick around, you know. If you ask Delphine, she'd let you go home. Might even get a ride on Odahviing.”

“What and leave you here in a den of assassins?” Vilkas snorted. “Fine Companion I'd be then.”

Ria laughed, nudging him. “Come on, you know they don't do their killing here. This is their Sanctuary, where they go when they're not murdering. We're safe here.”

“Aye, but for how long?” Vilkas muttered, taking a swig of the mead. One mouthful wouldn't hurt, he supposed. Unless they'd poisoned it. He put the bottle down, suddenly not feeling thirsty any more.

“Vilkas. Ria.” That was Delphine right behind them and how they'd not heard her coming disturbed Vilkas no end. It was those damn boots, some sort of witchcraft on them, he was sure. “May I speak with you indoors? I've got something for you.”

This was it then. This was the part where Delphine decided they knew too much and were of no further use to her and had them killed. No doubt there was a special room devoted to just that somewhere in the bowels of this mountain.

She must have read his mind, because she laughed and shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I told you, you're quite safe. No Companion is dying on my watch unless they do something stupid. Come on, I need to talk to you both. It's about Solstheim. Assuming you're still going.”

“We said we would, didn't we?” Vilkas snapped, getting up. “True Nords keep their word!”

“Yes, but when you gave it, you didn't know you'd be dealing with an ex-Dragon Priest with Hermaeus Mora's powers at his command,” said Delphine. “Wouldn't blame you if you wanted out.”

“We're not leaving Cicero!” said Ria firmly. “How are we supposed to go back and tell Kodlak that we let his son go off to his death on his own??”

“I'm hoping it won't be to his death,” said Delphine, worry flickering in her eyes. “But he can't go alone. He... he doesn't cope well on his own.”

Vilkas personally was more concerned about keeping Cicero from murdering random Solstheimers than anything else, but he supposed keeping Cicero alive was also a worthy gesture. Besides, no true Companion shied away from a fight because it was difficult. Also Ria was going, and he didn't like the idea of Ria being away from him and in danger. It had been bad enough when she and Farkas had been gone for weeks, and that was just so Farkas could let his ankle heal. This was something else entirely and she wasn't ready, he knew. He was barely certain he was, but he was damned if he'd let anything happen to Ria.

Sighing, he took off after her and Delphine. 

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

She led them into the cool of the Temple, along winding corridors until they reached what appeared to be an armoury. Delphine ignored the various weapons on show, and all the racks of Shrouded Armour. Instead she unlocked a door at the far end and opened it, indicating for them to go in.

Inside were two rows of mannequins, all dressed in identical blue steel armour. Vilkas vaguely remembered having seen it once as a boy, but never since.

“Blades armour,” he whispered. “You still have it.”

Delphine nodded. “It's in good condition too. I've got a set, but I don't get to wear it much. No one else here is heavy armour trained – light armour is better for our kind of work. So it's just sitting here, not getting any use. I'm thinking you two could use it.”

“You'd give us a set of this stuff each?” Ria asked, stunned. She was no smithing expert, but she could tell this stuff was high-quality. Delphine nodded.

“Yes. I can't spare anyone from this Sanctuary, but Cicero needs protectors. I know it's hard to believe, and I know he doesn't think he needs them but... I don't like my Dragonborn going off on his own. Anything could happen. Reman Cyrodiil had the Dragonguard. The Septims had the Blades. Cicero needs the same. Guardians there to look out for him, no other reason. The Brotherhood is that in a way, but we serve the Night Mother, we have a business to run. We can't drop everything to go and fight a rival Dragonborn, not without a contract in place. I don't think the Night Mother would mind me sending people, but this Sanctuary's only got Eola, Ingun and Ralof. I start sending them away and we're down a Sanctuary. You on the other hand – no one in Jorrvaskr's going to object to two Companions going off to save the world. So how do you fancy being Cicero's Blades for the purposes of this trip?”

“Really? Us? Wow!” Ria whispered. Vilkas wasn't convinced.

“What's the catch?” he demanded. “You wouldn't give this armour away for free.”

“Well asked,” said Delphine approvingly. “Traditionally Blades would walk away from their old life, devote themselves to Talos and the Dragonborn. I don't expect you to do that. But I do want my husband back, alive and in one piece. So that's what you have to do. Go with him, keep him out of trouble, get the job done and get him home. That's all I ask. Once he's back, you keep the armour and go on with your lives. Well, what do you say?”

“Count me in!” Ria cried before Vilkas could stop her. With her signed up, Vilkas didn't have a lot of choice but to go along with it.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I'm in.”

“Glad to hear it,” Delphine said with a smile. “I'll leave you to pick your armour out. You'll be leaving in the morning for Windhelm with him.”

She left them to it. Ria was already inspecting the female mannequins, looking for one similar in size to her. 

“I can hardly believe it, we're going to be Blades!” she squealed. “Protecting the Dragonborn! Isn't it exciting!”

“Ria, the Blades are a proscribed organisation,” Vilkas sighed. “If anyone sees us walking around in that, we could get hauled off by the Thalmor.”

“Oh don't be silly, there's no Thalmor in Skyrim any more, the Embassy's not been rebuilt yet,” said Ria dismissively. “But if it makes you feel better, I can leave off wearing it until we get to Windhelm. We'll be fine in Solstheim, the Thalmor are never going to want to bother with somewhere that remote, and everyone knows the Dunmer all worship Azura anyway.”

Among other less savoury deities, yes, but Vilkas decided that could wait. It was very fine armour, better than his own. Giving in, he went to get equipped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins! As hinted above, this story will incorporate the characters from Windhelm Sanctuary more than Karthspire - they got a bit neglected in All Skyrim's Foes, but that Sanctuary will be rather more prominent in this.
> 
> Notes on the Dovah:
> 
> Zeymahzinne - Companions
> 
> Pahlaan - arrogant
> 
> Tahrovin - treachery


	4. The Shadow Over Windhelm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero sets off with his new Blades, but it appears they've got assistance from an unexpected source. As Ysgramor's Companions gather in Ysgramor's City, allies already there are taking note and moving into place, leading to some less than pleasant memories resurfacing for a certain Dunmer...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter this time - a little bitty but it's probably the last one set entirely on the mainland. It's the one where the principal characters involved start gathering and preparing for the fight. Includes a bonus flashback to a relevant bit of WaDLT which I never got to write at the time but is now happily and coincidentally both here and relevant. Serendipity, I love it.

Two days later, and Vilkas and Ria had made it as far as Windhelm unhindered. Many a goodbye had been said at Sky Haven Temple, including long, lingering and frankly uncomfortable to watch kisses between Cicero and Delphine, and then again with him and Eola. Really, it was enough to know he was involved with them both, did the man have to flaunt it so? If Vilkas was ever lucky enough to acquire a lover again in his life, he'd ensure he kept the public displays of affection to a minimum. Cicero's kisses verged on sex standing up, for Talos' sake.

Then had come the dragon ride, over the mountains and screaming across the tundra until Whiterun loomed into view. Odahviing had dropped them off just outside the city and flown off before the guards could arrive. Cicero had waved goodbye sadly before following Vilkas and Ria into the city.

He'd stayed behind, wanting to make sure Kodlak was all right and that he had the chance to spend time with Stelmaria's spirit before Cicero left on a dangerous mission for who knew how long. He'd sent his new Blades on ahead, cheerfully saying he'd meet them at Windhelm. Probably for the best. Despite everything, despite things still being awkward between Cicero and Kodlak, the mutual affection was undeniable. Cicero had walked in and stared at the furniture out of place, the gashes in the walls and floor being sanded out, woodwork being replaced entirely in some cases, and lots of painting over the bloodstains, with Torvar, Farkas, Brill, and Eorlund's two grown sons, lately home from the war and out of work and their father deciding that they might as well make themselves useful at Jorrvaskr, all pitching in to help. Cicero had stared at the once fine mead hall turned building site and very quietly murmured that Miraak would _pay._

Even Ria had confessed she'd been scared of him then. Mercifully Kodlak had then emerged from where he and Eorlund had been rebuilding one of the tables, and father and son had just approached and watched each other in silence for a few nervous seconds. Then Cicero's voice had cracked as he'd just whispered “ _Harbinger!_ ” and gone to his father, holding him very tightly and saying nothing more.

“It is alright, lad,” said Kodlak gruffly. “None of us were killed. My injuries are not severe and Danica says they'll heal well. That necklace of yours kept most of their sorcery at bay and my armour took most of the rest.”

“That is well,” Cicero said, voice muffled. “But if not for Cicero, they would never have come at all!”

“Lad, we are not defenceless,” said Kodlak gently. “We saw them off. I consider it a mercy you were not here.”

“I don't!” Cicero snapped. “Cicero would have dealt with the vile intruders _personally_ , with no need for his dear father to get involved.”

“Yes, I imagine you would,” said Kodlak, patting him on the back. “Nevertheless, I am glad you are here and that Vilkas and Ria found you. I was worried for you.”

Cicero had cooed that the dear Harbinger need not fear for sweet Cicero, he was quite capable of defending himself. Then Kodlak had seen Vilkas and Ria's Blades gear – a full set of armour each, and Ria had also taken a katana and shield.

“By the Nine,” he'd whispered. “Are the Blades returning as well?”

“We're still Companions,” Vilkas had reassured Kodlak. “But it seems Cicero's lady wife had a few surprises for us, including a whole armoury of this stuff. We're going with Cicero as bodyguards. Seems she's afraid to let him go to Solstheim on her own and can't afford to send any of her own people right now.”

Kodlak had led them to his office at that point to hear the rest of the story, and while he'd been concerned to find out just who Miraak was, he'd also agreed Cicero needed to do something.

“By the gods, Dragonborn versus Dragonborn. It will be a fight to be sung of through the ages.” Kodlak had actually grinned at that point, clasping Cicero's hands in his. “Get out there, teach this coward his place and get back here to tell the story, my boy.”

“Cicero shall fight him to the death and his blood shall flow like sweet Alto wine!” Cicero had cackled, grinning at his father, eyes alive with glee. Had either of them known it, they'd looked just like each other in that moment, Kodlak's beard the only thing hiding the identical facial expressions.

“That's the spirit, lad!” Kodlak laughed. “This Miraak won't know what hit him.”

Mead had been drunk, songs sung, assistance provided with the Jorrvaskr clean-up and in the morning, Vilkas and Ria had been on their way, making for Windhelm. Now here they were, in the Candlehearth Inn in their Blades armour, waiting for Cicero and both feeling most uncomfortable. The armour wasn't the most inconspicuous in the world, and more than a few older residents of the city were giving them odd looks. That annoying Imperial Viola Giordano had kept trying to make conversation, trying to find out who they were. Fortunately Vilkas' glowering had put her off and Ria's sweetest smile coupled with the words “Well, we could tell you but then we'd have to kill you. Such a pity that would be. Don't you think, Vilkas?” had driven Viola off, hopefully for good.

“You've been spending too much time with Cicero,” Vilkas muttered into his tankard. “That man is a bad influence.”

Ria raised her own tankard cheerfully. Bad influence perhaps, but excellent at keeping undesirables at bay and much more fun than Vilkas usually was. At least he was nagging her less often today. All in all, she was in quite a good mood... right up until another Imperial hauled up a chair and took a seat at their table. An Imperial not as annoying as Viola, but infinitely more dangerous.

“Good evening, Companions,” said Calixto Corrium smoothly, pouring himself a glass of Alto wine. “What a surprise to see two of you here in Windhelm. An even bigger surprise to see you both dressed like that.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “There's only one place in Skyrim you could possibly have obtained that armour. I'm hoping it was a gift and not loot. If it was looted... well. You ought to be aware I already paid Silda the Unseen to make her way to the New Gnisis and alert my lady w- my good lady of your arrival in this city before approaching you both, and that should any harm befall me, she will ensure you won't be leaving it. Now, I trust you have a good explanation for trading in your usual for this?” He flicked a finger against Vilkas' gauntlet, not seeming to care about the clanging noise it made. 

“Watch your tongue, Imperial,” Vilkas growled, hand reaching for his battle-axe. “I could have your head if I felt minded to, murderer.”

Calixto just shrugged. “By all means try to behead me with that thing. I assure you I'd be out of reach before you could finish the blow, and then the guards would start arriving. I'm sure you wouldn't want to have to go back to Whiterun and admit to Kodlak you got thrown out of Windhelm for assaulting an innocent citizen.”

“Innocent?? You?” Vilkas scoffed. “I know what you are, man.”

“Vilkas,” said Ria softly, placing a hand on his arm to settle him. Calixto gave her the creeps too, but she also knew he'd got good reason to want to know their business. He must know they'd been to Sky Haven Temple, and he'd know two Companions would never have signed up with Delphine as assassins. “If you must know, the armour was a gift from Delphine. Cicero's on his way to join us on a dangerous mission, and she wanted him to have bodyguards. She can't go herself and can't spare anyone from her own base. So she's recruited a couple of Blades for him.”

“That... does sound like her, actually,” Calixto sighed. “Far too sentimental for her own good, that woman. Very well. I'll expect to hear news of the lunatic idiot's arrival within a week, at which point we'll get his side of things. In the mean time, relax, rest, enjoy your stay here.” He leaned in closer, the jade amulet around his neck slipping out of his shirt. “Don't try to leave.” 

With that, he was gone, boots making no noise on the floor and feet expertly avoiding every creaky floorboard.

“He reeks of death,” Vilkas growled. “Ending him would be a service to the world.”

“Vilkas,” Ria sighed. “I know. But we promised Kodlak. Cicero would be heartbroken if we started killing his friends.”

Vilkas growled again, personally thinking that it would serve Cicero right for throwing in his lot with evil in the first place. However, even he had to admit that Cicero's response to heartbreak would most likely involve blood and lots of it, and while he was confident of his skills, he wasn't entirely sure he'd win against Cicero and that's assuming it was a fair fight and he didn't wake up shackled up in a cave somewhere with Cicero setting torture implements out and grinning at him.

He hoped Cicero turned up soon. He didn't like to think what might happen if the jester failed to show up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Calixto left the inn and made swiftly for the Grey Quarter. Their Sanctuary's location in the better-off section of Windhelm notwithstanding, the Dunmer neighbourhood was where the Dark Brotherhood felt more naturally at home. Shadowed. Quiet. Dark. Home to the New Gnisis Cornerclub, where Sapphire had never had to buy a drink since killing Rolff Stone-Fist and where Aranea could be regularly found ministering to the spiritual needs of the local Dunmer, and taking the opportunity to gather intelligence and occasionally garner the odd side job as well. The Dunmer were a little cooler towards him, but his association with Aranea at least prevented outright hostility.

Aranea and Sapphire were sitting in a quiet corner of the Cornerclub, having a heated if hushed conversation.

“Hope I'm not interrupting anything,” Calixto said as he pulled up a chair next to them. “But there's a problem.”

“Damn right there's a problem!” Sapphire hissed. “We've got a squatter in the Aretino House!”

Now that was a problem indeed. Hjerim was the actual Sanctuary, but with a little help from the Thieves' Guild, they'd added a secret tunnel under the city which led from a trapdoor in his old necromancy room to secret entrances in both his house and the Aretino house. The one in his house was behind a false back in one of the wardrobes, used solely by the three of them. The Sanctuary's main entrance was in the Aretino cellar, a Black Door normally hidden behind a few barrels, and was used by their new recruits. A problem if the allegedly abandoned and rumoured to be cursed house now had a squatter.

“I see. And they're still breathing because?” Honestly, not like it was hard to sneak in, slit their throat and bury their body in the cellar...

“Because according to Neetrenaza and J'datharr, the woman is a werewolf and would smell them coming,” said Aranea. “So they've left her to her own devices for now but are busy tailing her. While she's left her things in the house, she seems to be spending the day hanging around the docks. I have Neetrenaza down there pretending to be doing his old job on the docks and watching her while J'datharr is across the river ready to snipe her if all goes badly.”

Calixto nodded, approving. A good plan. Aranea was no fool – well, he'd always known that, but since she'd become Speaker, he'd had the opportunity to have it proved on a daily basis. She'd certainly chosen well with the two new bloods – one a former Thalmor assassin and former target of theirs who'd been persuaded the Thalmor were not the winning proposition they'd once been, and one an ex-docker whose resentment of the Nords had been easy to turn to darker ends.

“A female werewolf. Presumably not our dear Eola or you'd have investigated, told the pair of them not to be idiots, she's with us, and invited her here for a sujamma or two. So may I take it our squatter is...?”

“Aela the Huntress, yes,” said Aranea. “Sapphire's just got back from confirming her identity. Seems to be here alone, I've not heard of anyone hiring the Companions, and why she's not staying in the inn's a mystery. So we're about to head down to the docks and have a polite conversation with her about her business in our city. I could do with your assistance, my dear.”

One of these days, Aranea would actually let the L word pass her lips. Still, Calixto knew she cared deep down.

“You have it,” he promised, raising a hand to his mouth and kissing her fingers. “After I've told you what I just saw at the Candlehearth. We appear to be experiencing a Jorrvaskr invasion. I just ran into Vilkas and young Ria having a quiet drink up there. Sitting out there in broad daylight wearing the armour of an illegal organisation.”

Aranea and Sapphire exchanged confused looks. The Companions were a bit squeaky clean for that sort of thing although the lack of subtlety was entirely to be expected.

“Not Shrouds surely,” said Sapphire, trying to think what other banned organisations there were in Skyrim. Other than the Guild and Brotherhood, not many. “Can't see them sporting Guild leathers either.”

“Better than that, my sister. They were in Blades gear.” Calixto sat back, waiting for the inevitable reaction. He was not disappointed.

“What??” Sapphire cried. “How... there can't be two Blades bases in the country, can there?”

“There aren't,” said Aranea, her voice expressionless. “It had to come from Sky Haven Temple. But how could they even know about it, never mind get in, the place is a fortress! Why is Delphine kitting Companions out in Blades gear?”

“Maybe she didn't,” Sapphire whispered, her voice hollow. “If they've broken our Sanctuary...”

“They say not,” said Calixto calmly. “I think they're telling the truth, although I did warn them if verification did not arrive, it would not go well for them. Nevertheless, I think they have more wit than to destroy a Sanctuary, loot it and advertise that fact when they'd know they'd not got everyone. No, it appears the armour was a gift from Delphine. She has engaged them as bodyguards for Cicero.”

Aranea and Sapphire said nothing, just blinking. Then as one they burst out laughing.

“Cicero! Needing bodyguards!” Sapphire howled, wiping tears from her eyes. “That's a good one!”

“Bless her, she's worried about him,” Aranea drawled. “Unless the bodyguards aren't for him, they're for the rest of us.”

Calixto had to grin. Cicero did quite well without heavily armoured bodyguards, in fact he generally preferred going it alone. Difficult to do any discreet stabbing with those two watching your every move.

“I know, it's ridiculous. But they said he was meeting them there soon, so I said I looked forward to hearing his report within the week and told them not to go anywhere. All the same, it's odd. Especially now you tell me Aela's in the city, apparently independently.”

“Apparently,” Sapphire snorted. “You're not telling me that's a coincidence, her being here almost undercover then those two showing up. Something's up.”

“Yes, and we need to find out what,” said Aranea, getting to her feet. “Sapphire, get to the Candlehearth and keep an eye on Vilkas and Ria. Calixto, come with me. We're going to talk to the Huntress.”

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Aela paced the docks, bored out of her skull. It wasn't that she lacked patience, in fact she was quite capable of stalking prey quietly for hours. No, it was that there were too many people about and this place was far too open. Hardly any cover, the guards were looking suspicious and the dockworkers were no better. There was one Argonian man in particular who kept glaring her way, although the female Argonian, Shahvee, had assured her to pay him no mind, Neetrenaza was the surly type who hated everyone.

Aela wasn't convinced that was the whole story, and that thought crystallised into certainty as she caught the smell of death and Dunmer behind her, although not a footstep could be heard. 

“Aela the Huntress,” Aranea Ienith murmured in Aela's ear. “Azura's peace be upon you, friend. What brings you to this city?”

One thing Skjor had always been fond of saying was that if someone called you 'friend', they certainly weren't your friend.

“I don't think that's any of your damn business,” Aela snapped. “I'm not here for you or any of your friends and that's all you need to know.”

“Oh, I think it is,” said Aranea, still in that same calm voice, and then on Aela's other side was that vile man who stank of necromancy, smiling politely at her. “We were wondering why you weren't staying at the inn. Surely a member of the Circle of Jorrvaskr has sufficient coin for a bed at the Candlehearth?”

“If they're not paying you enough, we've always got a few weaklings who need culling,” Calixto offered, not even looking fazed by the glare she gave him.

“I am never joining you,” Aela hissed. “And you may live in this city, but you have no business accosting innocent travellers. What do you want?”

“Answers,” Aranea said, still smiling, occasionally glancing at guards who took one look in her direction and quickly looked away. Aranea was one Dunmer who never had to worry about getting harassed by the guards. “Listen, Aela, we don't greatly care why you're here. It's just you're in our territory. That house you've broken into. It's abandoned because its owner died and the property reverted to her ten year old son, Aventus Aretino. A boy who performed the Black Sacrament and came to our attention. He's unlikely to be returning to ever claim it.”

“You killed a child?” Aela gasped, horrified. She knew they were unscrupulous but she'd thought even the Brotherhood had limits. However, it seemed she'd misjudged them. Aranea looked appalled and even Calixto looked vaguely disgusted.

“No, we adopted him,” said Calixto. “Well, Delphine did after the boy begged to be allowed to join up. He's coming along nicely at our main headquarters, and seeing as he's fairly well sworn to our cause, we're using his house. Well, we were until someone set up camp there. Now, can we ask you to either tell us why you're here or decamp to the inn like everyone else?”

“You adopted him??” Aela could barely believe her ears, although if he really had performed the Sacrament, he'd clearly known what he was getting into. “Never mind. So I take it your Sanctuary entrance is in that house somewhere as the place looked fairly abandoned to me.”

“Word of advice, don't try and look for it,” Aranea said, somehow contriving to sound soothing and maternal despite the threat. “It won't go well for you if you end up inside uninvited, detente notwithstanding.”

Aela was tempted to retort that they'd find it harder to take her down than they could ever imagine, but she didn't know how many others they had in that Sanctuary and Aranea's magic was rumoured to be a thing to be feared. Best not to antagonise them. Besides, they might even be able to help.

“Fine,” Aela sighed. “Jorrvaskr was attacked by some insane mages in purple robes and masks I'd never seen the like of. We drove them off, but it appeared they'd arrived in Skyrim by ship, arriving here in Windhelm. I'm watching in case any more arrive, or if they had any friends who might return this way.”

Calixto had gone quiet, looking up at Aranea. She was looking pensive.

“We saw them arrive,” she finally admitted. “Tailed them while they were in the city. We suspected they were up to no good, but they left without causing trouble. They went for Jorrvaskr? Why? Who did you upset?”

“Not us,” said Aela. “They were after a known associate of ours. They wanted Cicero.”

Silence, as the two assassins stared at her, Calixto's face barely moving while Aranea's eyes widened in understanding.

“Mystery solved,” said Calixto softly.

“I think they found him,” said Aranea. “More might come, but I don't think the ones that came here will be returning. Aela, go to the inn. You have two of your friends there, Vilkas and Ria. They can doubtless tell you more – it's clear they met with Delphine at some point. Don't worry about watching the docks, I'll ensure we have eyes on them. Do you know why Cicero was targeted?”

Aela looked up as a cold breeze swept over the river and a shadow flew overhead, a large red dragon coming in to land on the other side of the valley.

“Ask him yourself,” said Aela, actually feeling relieved to see the little fool turn up. “He's here.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

J'datharr watched the docks closely, arrow trained on the red-haired werewolf. He'd been told not to kill unless she attacked first, just observe, but while he'd obey orders, that didn't mean he was a fool. J'datharr had never been an idiot, no. He'd been sent to this cold northern city in the first place with orders to kill the traitor wood elf Malborn, but then his handler had vanished and the next thing he knew the Thalmor Embassy had been in ruins, Windhelm changed hands and things were rather different. He'd stuck around, never being one to turn down a chance to get his hands dirty, but his loyalty to the Thalmor was only skin deep. Small wonder that when he'd woken up to find himself tied up and the notorious Sapphire Stone-Killer going through his things, he'd paid attention and happily agreed to let the Bosmer go in return for joining up with the Dark Brotherhood. 

So now here he was, back at the spot where it all began, with an arrow trained on the fool who thought squatting at their front door was a bright idea. He could see her now, flanked by Calixto the Butcher and Speaker Aranea, with his brother Neetrenaza nearby, looking for all the world like a simple fisherman mending his nets, but in reality ready to strike at a moment's notice. 

_Just say the word, Speaker_. The merest hint of trouble and the fool would be dead.

Then the ground shook as the dragon flew overhead, landing just outside the stables. J'datharr spared it a brief glance, hoping it would go for someone else and ignore him. He was under cover after all. Then he looked again, blinking as he saw someone leap off its back. A short red-haired man in unusual black leather armour in the style of a jester's motley, complete with a red and black jester hat. J'datharr didn't recognise the symbol on the back, but he knew the one on the front. A Brother then. And not just any brother. J'datharr had heard all the stories of the insane Jester Dragonborn before joining the Brotherhood, and it had been a bit of a shock to learn that not only were they mostly true, said Dragonborn was one of their own. The Keeper of the Night Mother herself and her mysterious Listener, no less. And here he was, riding a damn dragon into Windhelm as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Truly, this Cicero was either fearless or mad or both.

Cicero had been stroking the dragon's nose, exchanged a few words with the dragon then kissed it, stepping back and waving as it flew off towards the west. The guards had raised their bows but not fired. They'd seen the hat too, and word of riding dragons tended to get around. The Jester Dragonborn was well-known by this point. 

J'datharr turned his attention back to the docks, where Calixto and Aranea had been watching the dragon too. Now they were leaving, and the Nord was going with them. It seemed J'datharr's work was done. Shouldering his bow, he slipped away after Cicero.

Close up, the jester looked no less intimidating for all his short stature. He was skipping along, singing to himself, and aside from his pack, he was also carrying two magical staves, an ebony bow and a selection of high-end arrows, with a sword on each hip.

“And if I spy a singing bird, I'll snap its neck before it's heard,” Cicero sang to himself, apparently oblivious to J'datharr's approach. Without a care in the world, he crossed the bridge and entered Windhelm. J'datharr followed, at least until he himself got into the gates. No sign of the jester anywhere. J'datharr looked around, until suddenly there was the faintest hint of blood and then a presence at his back, a presence sliding an arm around him and a dagger pricking at his side.

“And if I chance to see a cat, I'll feed his corpse to my pet rat!” a Cyrodiilic voice giggled in his ear. Slowly, J'datharr raised his hands.

“Brother,” J'datharr purred. “There is no need for things to get rough so soon. This one means you no harm.”

“Of course, of course!” Cicero giggled. “When Cicero means someone no harm, the first thing he does is sneak up on them unawares. Tell me, what is life's beginning and end?”

The passphrase to Windhelm Sanctuary. Well, obviously the Keeper would know it even though he'd not visited since J'datharr joined. 

“Darkness, my brother,” J'datharr whispered, and mercifully, Cicero put his dagger away.

“The sneaky kitty gets to live,” Cicero purred, sounding not unlike one of J'datharr's own kind. “Now, poor Cicero is hungry and cold. Would the sweet Khajiit who has yet to introduce himself to poor Cicero care to assist his tired brother?”

“This one is J'datharr,” the Khajiit told him, eyes flicking to where their Nord squatter emerged, followed closely by the Speaker herself and the Butcher. The Nord shot a filthy look at J'datharr but actually nodded respectfully at Cicero before heading for the inn, Calixto following behind. Aranea let them go and approached, smiling at Cicero.

“Keeper,” she laughed, embracing him with a warmth not seen often on her. Not that Aranea was unfriendly exactly, but she kept most of the world at bay behind her professional mask. Even with Calixto and Sapphire, she tended to let her guard down fully only when alone with them.

“It is good to see you again,” she told the grinning jester. “Why don't you visit more often, hmm? This city could do with you here to liven it up.” She lowered her voice, drawing closer to them both. “Is it true, what Aela tells me? That Jorrvaskr was attacked by those masked cultists that came through here? And has the Listener really enlisted two Companions as your bodyguards?”

Cicero's grin faded. “Sister. Oh sister,” he breathed, grim-faced and hard suddenly and J'datharr only just managed to avoid flinching. “It is all true, and worse besides. Come, where is your Sanctuary, we cannot talk here. My sweetling has a letter explaining it all. Here, here!” He shoved a letter into her hands, and Aranea tore it open, scanning the contents.

“Azura have mercy,” Aranea breathed, going pale. “Another one? And the Temple... my gods, Cicero.”

Cicero nodded, leaning in to Aranea as she put an arm around him and ruffled his hair.

“The filthy defiler shall pay in blood,” Cicero said quietly and J'datharr decided right then that he was never betraying the Brotherhood, ever. If this was the Listener's personal Tenets enforcer and husband... no threat of torture was more frightening than the look in this man's eyes.

“Of course he will,” Aranea soothed him. “Come on, let us get you inside and out of the cold, get you some mead or sujamma. J'datharr. Get after Calixto at once and tell him to alert all our eyes in this city. Leave the Companions, they're no threat to us. I want to know who comes in or out, and if any of those cultists return, I want them eliminated. Go.”

“This one hears and obeys,” J'datharr purred, very keen to get away from Cicero despite being also quite keen to know what exactly had Aranea so concerned. Things had just got very interesting, very interesting indeed.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Vilkas glowered into his mead. This was a terrible idea from start to finish, and not even Ria's company made it tolerable, in fact he could wish her at home in Jorrvaskr, safe and away from all this. Calixto hadn't reappeared, but that other one, that stony-faced woman in what resembled Thieves Guild gear, had arrived and was now watching them, not even bothering to hide the fact. Was this how little the Brotherhood cared about secrecy these days? Had they grown that strong, that arrogant?

They had certainly grown strong.

Calixto re-appeared, whispering something in his friend's ear... and then someone else entered, a face neither Vilkas or Ria had expected to see here.

“Aela!” Ria gasped, grabbing a chair for her. “What are you doing here? Did Kodlak send you?”

Aela shook her head as she sat down. “No, it was my own idea. I knew that they'd return to Windhelm, so I decided to come here, see what I could find out, maybe get passage to Solstheim myself. Or at least I would if the coward in charge of the Northern Maiden would actually agree to ever leave port. He insists he's going nowhere near the place again. Says it's cursed.”

“Oooh,” Ria breathed. “So Miraak really is there! How exciting!” She noticed Vilkas glaring at her and shrugged. “What?” she asked defensively. 

“It is not exciting to be sitting in a city infested with assassins, waiting for another one to turn up while all his friends are sitting around spying on us,” Vilkas growled, nodding at where Calixto and his Nord friend had been joined by a third, a Khajiit taking advantage of Windhelm's more relaxed attitude to non-Nords these days. While the city still wasn't terribly friendly to mer and beastkin, the city's economy needed their coin.

“No, but they're not our enemies, not in this one,” said Aela, watching as the three assassins at the other table went into a furtive huddle before all getting up and leaving in different directions. “I told that Dunmer in charge of them what had happened. Turns out they saw the cultists arrive and kept an eye on them. They're willing to keep an eye out for their return, and now they know the cultists' true target is Cicero... let's just say I think we can leave that matter in their hands. What's up with the armour? You look like... well, soldiers, but that can't be right.”

“We're Blades!” Ria whispered, still bubbling over with far too much excitement for Vilkas' liking. “The armour was a gift in return for agreeing to help protect the Dragonborn. Delphine gave it to us after we helped save Eola from the cultists. Now we're going to help Cicero deal with this Miraak.”

Aela turned to Vilkas, eyes lighting up. “Oh now that I like the sound of,” she laughed. “Do you think Cicero would raise too many objections to a third person along? You'll need someone a little less conspicuous. Solstheim is mostly countryside, you'll want someone who knows her wilderness. I've even heard there's still werewolves out there.”

“Are you offering to come then, sister?” Vilkas asked, trying to work out if this was a good thing or not. On the one hand, honourable company, someone with wilderness skills, someone with stealth and sniping abilities to rival Cicero's own, who could perhaps tail him if he decided to go wandering off on his own. On the other... Aela was a bit too attuned to her inner beast and while Vilkas was very fond of his Shield-Sister, his own wolf got restless if he spent too much time around her.

“Offering?” Aela snorted. “I'm coming along whether you like it or not, brother. They attacked my pack, it's personal. I just wouldn't want Cicero to get... spooked.”

Given that a spooked Cicero usually resulted in someone getting stabbed, that was probably a good thing.

“Well, when he arrives, we'll ask him,” said Ria, smiling. “I'd love to have you along, wouldn't we, Vilkas?”

Vilkas gave in. He clearly wasn't winning this one. “Fine, fine, I suppose we could use the help. If Cicero doesn't object, you can come. I don't suppose he will, he's always liked you.”

“He's the only other person in Jorrvaskr who can hunt worth a damn,” Aela admitted. “He's also here. Just got in a few minutes ago. I saw him talking with that Dunmer. I think you can expect to hear from him in fairly short order.”

“And he's not come to find us?” Ria pouted. “That's not nice.”

“He's probably gone to their Sanctuary,” said Vilkas, getting up to go and get refills of mead. Better make the most of it, the stuff was probably hard to come by in Solstheim. “Make the most of the quiet. Three days on a boat with that one and you'll miss it, I assure you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cicero closed his eyes, moon sugar in his veins, nice and warm in a sealed up Hjerim with the fires going, a glass of mulled wine to hand and one of those huge stuffed cushions from Elsweyr that the Khajiit loved to lounge on at his disposal. Cicero liked his new brother J'datharr, he really did. The cat clearly had his priorities right and was very kind, very kind indeed to ensure poor, tired Cicero received all the luxuries befitting his rank of Keeper, yes indeed. 

“Does the Keeper need anything else?” J'datharr purred. “This one would hate to see such an important personage in discomfort or reporting back to the Listener that Windhelm Sanctuary was not... hospitable.”

A long hot soak in the bath, a thorough massage and then someone on their knees sucking him off were the first things to come to mind. However, Cicero decided not to push his luck. He wasn't sure he wanted oral sex off a Khajiit anyway. The teeth were a little off-putting.

“Oh, humble Cicero is just fine,” Cicero giggled, the moon sugar tea having gone to his head a little. “Cicero will just lie here and sip his wine and possibly have a little nap. If someone could possibly wake poor Cicero up when dinner is ready?”

“It shall be done,” J'datharr promised, heading for the kitchen to see if Neetrenaza had finished cooking yet.

Cicero grinned and snuggled into the cushion. It was stuffed with fur and feathers and beans and covered in sabre cat pelts, and he wanted one. He'd have to write to Eola before he left, get her to find some. He was sure she'd like one, and definitely sure he'd like to snuggle with her on one. Despite the flesh-eating and the utter lack of shamelessness with regards to matters carnal or indeed anything else, she was sweet and pretty and warm and curvy and he loved her dearly. He missed her.

He missed Delphine too, of course. But since Miraak had made his presence known, Cicero's inner Dovah had been awake and growling constantly. It wasn't submission Cicero wanted to engage in now, it wasn't being the happy Keeper living to serve. He wanted to rip, tear, kill and destroy, show this upstart whose Thu'um was stronger. He wanted to be strong, to feel his full power. That last night in Sky Haven Temple, he'd murmured to Delphine that he needed his wife, not his Listener that night. She'd agreed, lying back and beckoning him on. The actual sex hadn't been so very different, but the dynamic had shifted, with him on top, pinning her down, licking, nibbling and getting her off, fucking her hard and whispering to her to call him Dragonborn as he did. She'd obliged. Cicero had kept right on fucking her until she finally screamed an orgasm and fell back on the bed.

Eola had watched the whole thing, aroused and amazed, and as Delphine lay exhausted, he'd turned to claim her as well, barely bothering with foreplay as the shameless little hussy was already soaking wet. Cicero had just growled that she was his, not Miraak's, and that no one took her from him and lived to tell about it. She'd whimpered from that alone and then he'd been in her, taking her hard and fast, finally coming inside her while she'd cried out both name and title, calling him Dragonborn without needing prompting. 

He'd miss them both horribly, but it was for the best they weren't here. He couldn't risk anything happening to them, he just couldn't. Not this time. He'd held them both afterwards, clutching them both and feeling proud, protective, caring and possessive all at once. No one hurt his sweetlings. No one attacked his Family. No one. Absolutely no one, and Miraak would come to understand this before he died screaming. _An angry Dovah is coming for you, Miraak. A dragon on the wind, bringing death and laughter, and you will_ suffer!

“He will suffer for this,” said Sapphire, her eyes cold as she listened to Aranea read Delphine's letter aloud. Aranea laid the letter down, wishing the words would change, be different this time, but they weren't. The Temple attacked. Muiri dead, dear sweet Muiri that Aranea had always had a soft spot for, Aranea's first ever client and the one who'd brought Calixto to her and indirectly this Sanctuary. Argis dead and that was a shame too, he'd been such a nice man. Eola taken, Azura's Star in these cultists' hand for however short a time, and that made Aranea want to burn things. At least they'd got her back, but it made Aranea feel sick to think of the Guardian of the Star hurt and vulnerable. Now it seemed the man behind it all was another Dragonborn and he wanted Cicero out of the way. A Dragonborn in league with Hermaeus Mora, and there was something Aranea would have preferred to forget.

_Calixto and Aranea stared down at the dead wizard, each wondering what happened now. They'd given him the blood extractor, he'd got the lockbox open, ran in to see what secrets it held... and now he was lying dead on the floor._

_“We're not going to tell Cicero this, are we,” said Calixto faintly._

_“Heart attack,” said Aranea, her mind working fast. “We brought him the blood, he got the box open and was so excited his heart gave out. Dead in seconds, nothing we could do.”_

_“If you really think he'll believe a trained healer-priestess and a necromancer couldn't revive a heart attack victim, by all means tell him that,” said Calixto, eyes turning from Septimus Signis' corpse to what was actually stored in the lockbox. It was a book on a pedestal, a big thick book and clearly radiating power. “By the stars, Aranea, is that what I think it is?”_

_“Azura, no,” Aranea cried. “Leave it be, it just killed Septimus!”_

_“Oh come on, the man was a gibbering idiot, of course he couldn't handle it,” said Calixto, running a hand over the cover. “Aranea, this is the Oghma Infinium, the lost tome of knowledge belonging to Hermaeus Mora himself!”_

_From what Aranea had heard, if it really was the Oghma Infinium, it was best resealed and left out here. All the same, she was still a mage... and if she was honest, curious._

_“Are you sure that's what it is?” she asked, staring at it over his shoulder._

_“Oh absolutely,” Calixto nodded. “I tried to find it myself once, many years ago. Got nowhere, all I could find were riddles and half-truths and tales that the Dwemer had sealed it away, locked with their blood and tears and bound by an Elder Scroll. Well, seems they were right.”_

_They were indeed. And after all the trouble they'd gone to in order to get that Scroll, not to mention the elf blood that had unlocked the box, surely it wouldn't hurt to have a look, surely... Just a quick peek..._

_Aranea opened the book and they both looked. The thing actually glowed and then they were both sucked in, knowledge pouring through their minds as they screamed and screamed and screamed..._

_They finally awoke, cradled in each other's arms on the floor of the lockbox, and they both knew things they hadn't before, Aranea realising that her mage armour could stop a troll, her Destruction spells were stronger than they'd ever been and that she could bring someone back from the brink of death if she had to. Calixto's knowledge of necromancy and Conjuration had deepened, as had his Restoration and flesh magic skills, and while his Destruction skills were never going to rival Aranea's, they'd gained a boost. The Oghma itself was gone._

_“Let's get out of here,” said Calixto._

_“Agreed,” said Aranea, experiencing a sudden longing for home, a cuddle from Sapphire and back to the more mundane existence of assassinating people. Easier said than done. The way out was blocked by some magical abyss from Oblivion itself._

_“Well done, my champions,” it gloated at them. “Septimus had outlived his usefulness the second that box opened.”_

_“Champions?” Calixto asked, eyebrow raised._

_“What are you?” Aranea whispered, although she knew the answer already. The Oghma's owner reclaiming his artefact._

_“Come now, priestess, don't you recognise me? Azura never showed you visions of me? Well no, her visions stopped when the Star came to life, didn't they? Such a shame, her abandoning you like that. Never mind. It has opened the path for other... opportunities. If it is knowledge you seek, I can offer all you ever desired. The Oghma is but a taste.”_

_“You're Hermaeus Mora,” Calixto gasped, and he sounded breathless, almost eager. Dear Azura, no, didn't he realise this sort of thing never ended well??_

_“I am,” Mora laughed. “And I'm thankful indeed to the two of you for returning my Oghma. And that other one who helped find the Scroll – the Dragonborn. Be sure to send him my thanks.”_

_Aranea was doing no such thing, in fact the last thing anyone needed was Cicero delving into the realms of the arcane._

_“Did you want anything else?” Aranea asked tersely. “Only we need to be going now...” He had his book back, what more did he want?_

_“Nothing for now, my champions. I just wanted to express my appreciation,” Mora purred. “It's not often a Daedra gets such competent servants.”_

_“We are not your servants,” Aranea hissed. “Now let us go!”_

_“Aranea...” she heard Calixto whine. “I – I don't mind... if there's more like the Oghma...”_

_“I mind!” Aranea snapped, grabbing his hand. Calixto might be an amoral murderer but he was her amoral murderer, not Hermaeus Mora's. “Now can we go please?”_

_Hermaeus Mora laughed. “Of course. You may take any road you desire, but they all lead back to me in the end. We will meet again... all three of you.”_

_The void faded and was gone. Aranea felt the tension inside ease, but she didn't feel relieved. This wasn't over, she could feel it._

_“He's gone,” said Calixto, disappointed. “We could have learned all sorts.”_

_“We could have lost our minds entirely,” said Aranea. Really, she was very fond of the man, but this obsession of his with delving into things best left alone was beyond her sometimes. “Come on, I need to say the Last Rites of Azura over the body, and then we're going home.”_

They'd left not long after, making their way home, and then they'd found out they were assassinating an Emperor, Falkreath had burned, the Dragonborn was gone, a deal had been struck between Tullius and Madanach as part of a contract against Ulfric Stormcloak, and all told life had been too busy to think on Mora's parting words. All roads led back to him in the end. Aranea shivered. Her, Calixto and Cicero, all bound up in this together with Hermaeus Mora waiting at the end. It did not bode well.

“Aranea?” That was Sapphire again, sweet, brutal, murdering Sapphire who whatever her faults had far more sense than to go messing around with the occult arts, Azura bless her. “What are you thinking? What do we do?”

“We are doing nothing,” said Aranea firmly, scanning the final paragraph, the one where Delphine said she knew Aranea and Calixto had experience of Mora, and that Aranea had Delphine's personal authorisation to do whatever was necessary to ensure Cicero survived this one and came home in one piece with Miraak dead. Presumably that included the Sanctuary Speaker taking off for who knew how long. Aranea could hardly let Cicero go walking into this unprepared and those Companions wouldn't be any help at all. No, she didn't really have a lot of choice in the matter, did she? Damn Mora. Damn him to Oblivion and beyond.

“You will be staying here with Neetrenaza and J'datharr, keeping the Sanctuary running in my absence and ensuring any more cultists turning up here are suitably dealt with. I will be going with Cicero to provide the magical expertise and backup he'll doubtless need, not to mention guidance on the finer points of Dunmer culture.”

“You're what??” Sapphire cried. “Going with – Aranea, it's dangerous!”

“I know it's dangerous!” Aranea sighed. “But Cicero will need my help. I'm not letting him wander around Morrowind on his own, even a remote part of it like Solstheim.”

Cicero's head poked up from where he was lying sprawled on J'datharr's cushion and he tried to sit up, without success. The cushion shifted underneath him, Cicero scrabbled for purchase and ended up in an undignified heap on the floor. It was a good thing he'd never minded looking like an idiot really.

“Aranea means it?” Cicero squealed, climbing on to the bench opposite Aranea. “She will come with humble Cicero to Solstheim and help him kill the pretender Miraak? But that is wonderful news! Cicero has not been adventuring with his sweet sister Aranea for a long time, not since Blackreach! Cicero would love to have her along!”

“I'm sorry,” said Calixto, emerging from the alchemy lab, wiping his hands down. “Did I hear correctly? You just volunteered to go with Cicero to Solstheim?”

“Yes,” said Aranea, putting the letter away and folding her hands on the table, looking up at Calixto calmly, just daring him to argue. 

“And... you're leaving Sapphire in charge. I see. And what am I to do, hmm? Sit around taking the odd job here and there while worrying about what you're up to now?? No doubt poking into things you shouldn't be, getting yourself killed in dangerous Nord or Dwemer ruins, wearing those flimsy robes that won't keep weapons off...”

“I assure you my mage armour spells are more than up to the job,” Aranea sighed. 

“And when they wear off??” Calixto snapped. “And you've not got the magicka to renew it and there's archers or one gets past Cicero?”

“Nothing is getting past Cicero!” Cicero cried, looking rather insulted.

“Then you can take care of it for me while everything regenerates,” Aranea sighed, knowing it would come to this in the end. “You're coming too, _dearest_.”

“I – really?” Calixto took a seat next to Cicero, suddenly turning from overprotective to pleased. “I'm coming too?”

“Of course you are,” said Aranea, finally permitting herself a smile. “It's going to involve Daedric Princes and dark magic, and you know more than anyone else I know about either, except maybe Eola or Madanach, and they're not here.”

Calixto responded by reaching across the table and taking Aranea's face in his hands, pulling her to him and kissing her. The kiss got more heated as time went on, leaving Cicero and Sapphire looking at each other awkwardly.

“Well,” said Cicero. “Er. This is nice? Cicero likes what you've done with the place?”

“Yeah, it's lovely, a veritable testament to Nord architecture,” Sapphire said wearily. Getting tired of the lovefest, she smacked Calixto on the arm. “Hey. Knock it off, tonight's my night, especially if you and her are swanning off to Solstheim without me.” 

Calixto let Aranea go and sat back down again, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, no objections here. I've got armour to mend and potions to make and knives to sharpen anyway.”

“Yeah, I bet,” said Sapphire, unfastening Mehrunes' Razor and sliding it over the desk. “Here. Borrow this if you want. Make sure you bring our Dunmer back in one piece. She's prettier than you.”

Calixto took the dagger, surprised. “I will. Thank you. Are you sure you won't need it yourself?”

“Not as much as you will,” said Sapphire softly, squeezing Aranea's hand. “You bring her home, Butcher.”

“I really don't know which of you is worse sometimes,” Aranea muttered, but she did squeeze Sapphire's hand. Cicero looked on, sympathetic.

“Do not worry, sister. Cicero had this exact same thing when he left his Sanctuary. Eola made me take Dawnbreaker with me, Delphine's made me take bodyguards. It is as if they think we're incapable, isn't it?”

“Then we'd best prove otherwise, hadn't we?” Aranea smiled, deriving no end of amusement from the eye-rolling from Sapphire and Calixto. Cicero just laughed, raising a tankard of mead. Aranea raised a glass of flin and a toast was drunk.

“To victory,” said Aranea.

“To vengeance!” Cicero giggled. “And blood! Lots of blood.”

“To the blood of our enemies, then,” Sapphire put in, lifting her own tankard. Now that was something they could all drink to. Despite her bravado though, Aranea couldn't help but feel worried. She had a horrible feeling this wasn't going to end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are likely to slow down a little as of now as I need to work out the details of the rest of the story. May also have to replay Dragonborn with a separate character as a reminder.
> 
> I am very pleased with how neatly the Hermaeus Mora quest in WaDLT is segueing into this - when I had Aranea and Calixto head off to finish it offpage, and then planned for them to turn Hjerim into Windhelm Sanctuary further down the line, I knew nothing about Solstheim or the Dragonborn DLC or anything. Now, now it's all come together rather nicely.
> 
> Next chapter, it's all off to Solstheim, where nothing is what it seems...


	5. Welcome to Solstheim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to leave Windhelm for Solstheim, and the contrast between the two places could not be more marked. Between the natural disaster, the cursed standing stone and the sudden onset dementia whenever Miraak's name is mentioned, both Companions and Dark Brotherhood alike can agree that all is not well on this island.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a filler one, but there was a lot of nice characterisation work I got to do. In particular, I got to do another flashback and add in Cicero's Trial to join the Companions - it was a bit weird writing Cicero and Vilkas without it, as we have two men who are essentially moral opposites but who were once friends before the truth came out about Cicero, and yet I never really dug into that friendship. So I decided I ought to.
> 
> Also got to write first impressions of Solstheim. Damn it's a creepy place. I love Raven Rock, but the whole of south Solstheim's like another planet compared to Skyrim, in fact it reminds me of the surface of Mars a bit. Anyway, they've arrived, more or less in one piece.

_Vilkas roared a battlecry, charging down the Falmer shaman, Nord blood resistant to the thing's frost magic. Behind him, Cicero's arrows flew past, striking deep into the other Falmer's chest, managing to take it by surprise every single time. How the little guy was doing it, darting in and out of the shadows, moving quickly and quietly and never striking from the same place twice, Vilkas had no idea, but it was working. Had worked throughout this gods-forsaken cavern._

_Finally, Vilkas' greatsword struck the last of the Falmers' head from its shoulders and all was quiet. Cicero emerged, barely having broken a sweat, but the arrows in the dead Falmer told their own story. Vilkas considered himself a competent marksman, but Cicero's skills were another level entirely._

_“Dead! Dead! All dead!” the little warrior giggled. “Nasty Falmer won't be bothering anyone again!”_

_“No, they certainly won't,” Vilkas gasped, getting his breath back. “You did well today, my friend!”_

_Cicero squealed and did a dance on the spot, and Vilkas resisted the urge to pat him on the head. This was a fully-grown man of similar age to Vilkas, not a child, however much Cicero might act like one at times. When it came to battle though, he was as fearless as anyone and a good deal more intelligent than most. The Falmer hadn't stood a chance._

_Cicero suddenly stopped mid-caper, and then came a sound Vilkas dreaded – steam and clanking as something staggered out of the Dwemer ruins around them. Turning around, he felt his heart pound as a Dwemer Centurion began advancing. While Vilkas had heard many stories of these things, he'd never actually fought one. He raised his sword, shoved Cicero out of the way and prepared to fight._

_His greatsword clanged uselessly against solid metal, jarring Vilkas' arm and then there was a cloud of scalding steam that had Vilkas stumbling to his knees, staggering back as he shielded his face but felt his arm start to blister._

_“Cicero, get out of here,” he managed to gasp. “I'll hold it...”_ Long enough for you to get to safety, _was what he did not say. He couldn't go back to Jorrvaskr and be the one to break the news to Kodlak that Cicero was dead, he just couldn't._

_Cicero didn't answer, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement, light on scaled armour and a flash of dyed blonde hair. The Centurion advanced... and stopped as a loud snapping noise rang out. The thing's right leg froze up, the Centurion dragging it uselessly behind as it tried to advance. Cicero darted behind it, ebony dagger out as the blade sliced through another of the wires powering the thing's legs, and then the left leg froze too. Now the Centurion was trying to turn, trying to find Cicero, but Cicero had darted back to its other side, backing away and getting his bow out again. Vilkas staggered out of range of the steam jets, wincing as he tried to find his own bow, but blistered hands wouldn't grip it properly. Cicero was firing off arrow after arrow, finding weak spots, joints in the metal, vulnerable areas that had the thing shutting down. Finally, he swapped bow for dagger again, leapt on to a nearby ledge and then onto the thing, grabbing its shoulder struts and hauling himself up. A few cuts to the throat later, and then an expert twist to the dynamo core in the chest, levering it out and off across the room, and the things keeled over, dead, if such abominations could be said to be alive in the first place._

_Cicero landed easily as the machine crashed down, sheathing his dagger and then grabbing their packs, racing to Vilkas' side._

_“Vilkas, Vilkas, are you all right??” Cicero cried, hands fluttering as the little fool emptied out all the healing potions they had. “No, no, do not pretend otherwise, you are not, you are not! This will not do at all, Cicero will never pass his Trial if he brings his Shield-Brother home in this state! Drink, drink!”_

_Vilkas gladly drank the potions offered, feeling the pain recede. Cicero carefully peeled off Vilkas' gauntlets, gasping at the reddened skin beneath as he carefully applied healing creams to the skin, before following it up with actual healing magic._

_“You a healer then?” Vilkas asked, surprised. No one knew where Cicero had come from but to find he knew some Restoration magic, that was a surprise. Vilkas didn't think he'd been a priest._

_“You know Cicero doesn't know,” said Cicero softly. “But... Cicero thinks he knows a little. Enough to get Vilkas patched up and home. Cicero is sorry, Vilkas.”_

_“Sorry??” Vilkas had no idea why the man was apologising – he'd likely just saved them both. “Whatever for, man?”_

_“You got injured!” Cicero cried. “Cicero is a terrible Shield-Brother for letting you take the damage! How is that honourable?”_

_“Are you joking??” Vilkas rasped, slowly getting to his feet while Cicero fussed over him. “You just killed a Dwemer Centurion by yourself! Even Skjor will be impressed by that! They'll be telling this story in Jorrvaskr for years!”_

_“They... they will?” Cicero had gone a bit pink, eyes wide, but he was starting to smile. “Really?”_

_“Really,” Vilkas replied, unable to stop himself smiling. “Well done, Shield-Brother. You're one of us.”_

_Cicero shrieked with delight, hurting Vilkas' ears but mercifully not hugging him._

_“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he cried. “Cicero has never... that is, he doesn't remember... he... he's got a family! A home! Somewhere to belong! Even if he never finds out who he is... he's got a home again!”_

_“You have indeed, my friend,” said Vilkas, gathering his things together. They were still none the wiser as to who Cicero had been before, but Vilkas knew who he was now. Cicero the Companion. “Come on, let's get out of here. We need to get home and tell Kodlak the story.”_

“VILKAS!”

Vilkas opened his eyes from the dream-memory. Odd that his mind had chosen to play him that one, the time Cicero had proven beyond all doubt he was a warrior to be feared, a time when he'd still thought Cicero was a good man. But perhaps not so odd given who'd just woken him up.

Cicero was kneeling next to the bed in the single room in the Candlehearth Hall that Vilkas was staying in. Ria was in the other room down the hall, along with Aela who'd taken the floor. Vilkas hoped Cicero hadn't given them the same wake-up call. Waking up to a grinning red-haired jester hovering over you was not Vilkas' idea of a good start to the day.

“What do you want?” he growled. Cicero pouted. 

“Now that is not very polite,” said Cicero pointedly. “Cicero has come all this way through cold Windhelm to see how his Blades are doing, and that is the reaction he gets?”

“Normal people knock on the door first instead of sneaking in to other people's rooms,” Vilkas growled, sitting up and looking around for some clothes. “Hope you didn't do this to the women.”

“Oh no!” Cicero looked horrified at the thought. “Cicero would never invade a lady's privacy! Cicero is a gentleman. Cicero would not want to sneak in and find them in a state of undress, no. That would never do.”

“But it's all right to do the same to me?” Vilkas asked, raising an eyebrow. Cicero giggled, peeping up at Vilkas through dark eyelashes.

“Oh, it is different for men,” he purred. “Men do not mind being naked around men.”

“They do when it's you!” Vilkas snapped. It wasn't that he was opposed to the idea of men being intimate with each other, but he preferred women and he definitely didn't want Cicero eyeing him up. “Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get dressed without you looking at me. Have you had breakfast yet?”

“Oh yes,” Cicero giggled. “His new brothers that Aranea found for him are excellent cooks! One knows things about herbs and spices that would put a master alchemist to shame and the other puts moon sugar in everything. Cicero shall have to come back here more often!”

Oh good, some fool had given Cicero a bowlful of moon sugar laced porridge for breakfast. Wonderful.

“Well I haven't, so why don't you see if the ladies are up and then order breakfast for us all, hmm?” Vilkas sighed, taking a leaf out of Delphine's book and giving him something to do as a means of distracting the giggling idiot. “Go on, go and order something with meat in it.”

“Yes, yes, bloody and rare, Cicero knows what werewolves like,” the jester grinned knowingly. “Cicero shall see to it at once!” More hand-fluttering and then he was gone.

Vilkas breathed a sigh of relief as he finally got up and started to get dressed. Two days on a boat with Cicero and then Kyne knew how long on Solstheim with him. Never mind Miraak, if Cicero kept this sort of thing up, Vilkas would be hard pressed not to throttle the madman and save this new Dragonborn the trouble.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Several hours later, and everyone was up and dressed and clean and breakfasted, the bill at the Candlehearth had been paid, everyone was packed and ready, and the little group of six had finally gathered on the docks, with Sapphire there to see them off.

“Now, you'll be all right, won't you?” said Aranea nervously. “Remember, you've got all the authority of Acting Speaker, so don't hesitate if there's trouble. Now, you've got enough work to keep you going?”

“We've got plenty,” Sapphire sighed. “Honestly, it'll be fine. Neither of the boys are going to give me any trouble, they're good lads.”

“Good?” Vilkas could be heard to mutter. Aranea and Sapphire both ignored him.

“I know, but I worry,” said Aranea softly. 

“You're the one going off to fight some insane Dragonborn,” said Sapphire gently, stroking Aranea's face. “Shouldn't I be the one worrying?”

“He can't be any worse than the insane Dragonborn coming with us,” said Aranea, shooting a look at Cicero, who was standing on the dock, twirling around and humming, lost in a little world of his own. Sapphire glanced over and smiled.

“He's not immortal though. And neither are you.” Sapphire leaned forward and kissed Aranea gently on the lips. “Kill well and don't die, Dunmer lady.” A hesitation, a skip in her breathing before the next bit. “I love you, Aranea Ienith. You come home soon, you hear?”

“I will,” Aranea whispered, eyes closed. “Azura guard you, Sapphire.”

Sapphire smiled, bittersweet expression in her blue eyes. One day Aranea would say it back, she was sure. But not today, it seemed.

Over by the Northern Maiden, Vilkas and Aela were arguing with the captain, a Nord by the name of Gjalund Sea-Sage.

“I'm telling you I'm not going back there!” Gjalund shouted. “That place, that island, it's cursed, I tell you! One minute I was in Raven Rock, then those mages arrived, and the next thing I knew two days had gone past and I was here! It's not natural!”

No, no it wasn't but Vilkas didn't really have a lot of choice about going. In fact, if the island really was in trouble, honour demanded going there and doing something about it.

“Where is your courage, man?” Vilkas cried. “You're a Nord! Are you going to let a little thing like wizardry stay you from your course? A true Nord would defy these vile mages and fight on anyway.”

“You have not been there, warrior, you cannot know...” Gjalund shivered, eyes flicking to the north-east. “We are sailors, not soldiers! And I'm not risking my ship and my men just because you want a glorious death!”

“It's not a glorious death we're after,” said Aela wearily. “We're trying to help stop this... whatever it is. Please, we'll pay extra!”

“I told you yesterday and I tell you today. My answer's no,” said Gjalund firmly. He was about to return to his work when Calixto sauntered up. One look at the Imperial and Gjalund went pale.

“Is there a problem?” Calixto asked, his voice mild. “Only my lady Aranea and I were hoping to book passage to Solstheim with you. Happy to pay, of course.” He moved closer, smiling down at the hapless sailor. “You are going back to Solstheim, aren't you.”

“He says no,” Vilkas sighed. “Says he won't risk his ship and his men's lives returning to the cursed place.”

Calixto looked at Aela for confirmation, then back to the captain, tutting as he shook his head. 

“I see. That is a shame, a great shame indeed. We're very keen on getting to that island as soon as the tide turns, although I can surely understand you not wanting to risk your men's lives. So let me put it this way. You can risk death with the curse... or have it guaranteed by my associates. Well?”

Gjalund had broken out in a sweat. He was no fool and sailors knew all the rumours and tales. In particular, he'd noticed the dancing jester on the quay and realised who his passengers were. 

“All right, all right, I'll take you,” Gjalund cried. “How many of you are there?”

“Six,” said Calixto as Ria and Cicero approached with their packs, Aranea following behind, still shooting long, lingering glances at Sapphire. 

“Well, normally it's 250 septims each,” Gjalund said hesitantly. Calixto's eyes flickered and Aranea raised an eyebrow. “But let's say 1000 septims for all of you and leave it at that, yes?”

“Acceptable,” said Aranea, tossing a coin purse to him. “All right, let's get everything stowed. All aboard, Aela, Ria, Vilkas, Calixto, Cicero – Cicero?”

Cicero had taken one look at the boat and stopped dead, looking very nervous.

“Cicero has changed his mind,” he said quickly. “Cicero doesn't care about Miraak after all. Let him have Solstheim if he wants. Cicero shall go back home and have moon sugar porridge and sweet rolls and then return to his sweetlings again. Sorry to have troubled you – ow!”

Aranea had grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip. 

“Oh, I don't think so,” said Aranea softly. “Our Listener was very definite that this needed dealing with and you were the only one able to do it. You're going, Cicero, end of story.”

Cicero tried to pull his wrist from Aranea's grip, panic in his eyes. “Nononono, Cicero doesn't want to!” Cicero wailed. He was staring at the boat as if it was about to grow teeth or tentacles any second.

“What is wrong with him now?” Aela sighed from her seat in the boat. “Honestly, how can he face off against dragons and Dwemer constructs and Falmer with no fear at all and then freak out at a boat?”

“Everyone's got their fears,” said Ria gently, climbing back out and going to stand at Cicero's other side, stroking his back. “What are you scared of, Cicero? Is it the water or the boat itself?”

“It keeps moving,” Cicero whispered, sidling closer to Ria and snuggling her. “It keeps moving, moving, moving and Cicero can't get it to stop or keep his balance and he's sick, sick, sick the whole time and... it... won't... stoooop!!!” He clung on to Ria, eyes screwed tight.

“Oh, you get seasick!” Ria realised. Cicero nodded, never having looked quite so pitiful as he did right then.

“Cicero had to take a boat to Skyrim the first time because Pale Pass was not safe and no carriages would go that way,” he sniffled. “So he had to get a ship from Anvil to Dawnstar. It was horrible! Nasty! Horrible ship full of horrible sailors all laughing at poor seasick Cicero!”

“Oh sweetie, that's awful, you poor thing,” Ria said gently. “But this is only a day or two at sea, so not nearly as long. I've never been on a ship at all. Never even saw the sea until I came to Skyrim and visited Solitude. I might get seasick too. At least we can suffer together, right?”

“Ria is nervous too?” Cicero asked, looking up at her, blinking. Ria nodded and was pleased to see him smile gently at her. “Do not fear, sweet Ria. Cicero will look after you. Dear Ria need not worry about a thing, Cicero will – aaahhhh!!!” So distracted had Cicero been, he'd not noticed Vilkas come up behind him. In one move, Vilkas had grabbed Cicero around the waist, picked him up and physically thrown him into the boat. Cicero crashed onto the deck, cursing profusely at Vilkas as the laughing Companion got back in.

“Sorry Cicero, but your wife was quite insistent we get you there in one piece,” he said, grinning. “Just doing our duty.”

“TRAITOR! YOU ARE CICERO'S BLADES NOT HERS!” Cicero shouted. “CICERO HATES YOU A-!” 

Aranea, tired of all the wailing, had hit him with a paralysis spell.

“Right, are we going?” Aranea said briskly as Ria climbed in after Vilkas. “I don't mean to rush anyone, but we've got ten minutes to cast off before that spell wears off and he starts shrieking again.”

That got everyone motivated, and minutes later the Northern Maiden was under way. 

When the spell finally wore off, Cicero shouted “You – you – you...!!!” at all of them before realising the land was moving and promptly sinking to his knees, gibbering as he clung to the boat's rail. 

“Oh Sithis,” he whimpered, tucking his hat away and going very pale. Ria patted him gently, feeling a little uneasy herself as she watched Windhelm recede. They were off into the unknown, into the unfamiliar. Off to Solstheim. Vilkas and Aela were watching the city, looking as uneasy as she did, and Calixto, normally so unruffled, was holding Aranea's hand and looking a little pensive. Aranea's expression was unreadable, but she was squeezing Calixto's hand and Ria didn't think it was just to comfort him.

Three Companions, two assassins and a Dragonborn, off into the unknown together. It was an unlikely little team they made. She just hoped it was enough to take on this Miraak. She knew Companions never backed down from an honourable fight and never feared an honourable death – but there were worse fates than death out there. She patted Cicero on the back as he lay beside her, head over the rail and looking distinctly green. Easy to forget underneath the craziness and bloodthirst and savagery that he was human like anyone else. He'd beaten dragon gods and daedra and many other things, Ria knew. She just hoped this fight wouldn't be the one where his luck ran out.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A day, a night and then another day. The time passed with no real incidents and the weather held good. Cicero spent most of the journey hanging over the rail, bewailing his misfortunes and throwing up over the side. Fortunately for him, he had company – once out into the open sea, Ria discovered she wasn't a good sailor either and spent a good deal of her time alongside Cicero. 

Aela and Vilkas were both completely unaffected, strolling about the boat like they'd been sailors all their lives. At least Aela was gracious about it and wasn't rubbing it in their faces. Vilkas on the other hand was being unbearably smug – to Cicero anyway. To Ria, he was being nothing short of solicitous, rubbing her back, bringing her water and bread to soothe her stomach and a few healing potions to calm her.

“Thank you,” Ria whispered, fighting the urge to curl up on the deck and bawl her eyes out. Bad enough Cicero was sniffling constantly. The boat didn't need two of them falling apart. “What brought this on? You're not usually this nice to me.”

Vilkas shrugged, staring at his feet suddenly. “You don't normally look like you need looking after,” he said nonchalantly. Which was true, Ria prided herself on being self-sufficient and strong and as good as any Nord which meant not whining about discomforts like some pampered Imperial brat. However, constantly wanting to throw up and not being able to keep much down was grinding even her reserves down. She'd not expected Vilkas to respond by being sympathetic – he was normally driving her hard and snapping at her to do better. Yet here he was being... nice. It was strange. Weird. She wasn't at all sure about this. 

“You don't have to,” she told him. “I know you're probably thinking I'm pathetic and should pull myself together.”

“Everyone has their weaknesses,” said Vilkas gently. “You can't help being seasick.”

Ria smiled a little at that, before the boat hit a particularly large wave, sending her off-balance and making her stomach heave again. Next to her, Cicero wailed pitifully, clinging to the deck as he sprawled on it, head hanging over the side.

“Oh pull yourself together man, it's not that rough,” Vilkas snapped before he could stop himself. Cicero glared up from where he was curled up.

“And where is sympathy for poor ill Cicero, hmm? Why does Ria get fed and doted on and petted and Cicero just gets abuse? Cicero is sicker than she is!”

“Because you've not stopped whining at volume about it since we left port,” said Vilkas wearily. “At least Ria's acting like a grown woman about it.” 

Cicero's eyes narrowed.

“Oh, Cicero sees how it is all right. Favouritism, is what this is! Rank favouritism, just because Ria is pretty and young. Sister, sister, Vilkas is being mean to me!”

“Leave me out of it,” said Aranea from where she was sunning herself on the aft deck. “As long as no one actually stabs anyone or pushes anyone overboard, I don't care what you do.”

Another explosion of outrage came from Cicero, only averted when Calixto intervened, getting up and rubbing Cicero's back, turning him around and resting him with his head over the side again.

“There, there,” sighed Calixto, and if he didn't sound entirely sincere, at least the words had a calming effect, not to mention the Restoration magic he was pumping into Cicero. “Poor, dear, nauseous Cicero. My poor ailing brother. How hard it is for you, being so horrifyingly and tragically assailed by the ravages of the sea on your delicate and sensitive constitution.”

“Yes, yes, it's hard, very hard, for poor delicate Cicero!” Cicero sniffled, snuggling up against Calixto. The other Imperial rolled his eyes but put up with it. Surprisingly, Cicero actually seemed to improve after a bit of sympathy, or the appearance of it at least. His pallor improved and he was able to keep rather more down than he had been. All in all a success.

It was on the afternoon of the second day that the cold, crisp temperatures and clear frozen air gave way to warmer temperatures, the smell of smoke and a definite metallic taste to the air. Aranea sat up, eyes to the east. 

“We're nearly there,” she whispered, voice hollow as she recalled the first time she'd tasted volcanic ash on the air, as part of a refugee caravan heading for Skyrim, Azura's warnings in their ears and horror on their faces as they'd reached the Velothi Mountains, turned to get one last look at their homeland and seen Red Mountain explode in fire.

“How can you tell?” Ria had asked, and then both werewolves had started coughing.

“Gods, what is that?” Aela had gasped. “The air tastes foul!”

“Red Mountain's not erupting again, is it?” Vilkas had asked. Aranea had just looked sadly at them all.

“It never stopped, Vilkas,” she told them. “Every minute of every day, it belches out smoke and ash all over Morrowind. There's a reason we never rebuilt, a reason why so many Dunmer still live in Windhelm despite the abuse the Nords like to hand out. Why bother going home and rebuilding when you're going to be up to your knees in ash by the end of the month?”

That killed the mood, and when Red Mountain itself came into view, even Cicero looked up to see it. As Aranea had said, a column of smoke was spewing out into the sky, a vast grey ash cloud dominating the sky and getting closer and closer.

“Night Mother,” Cicero breathed, fascinated. “Look at it!”

“Talos guard us,” said Vilkas softly. Even Calixto looked awed and he wasn't normally the kind of man to get emotional about anything.

The presence of Red Mountain meant the journey was nearing its end, and soon Solstheim itself was drawing into view. Cicero picked himself up and all six of them stared out at the blasted landscape, ash lying like some diseased grey snow over the remains of once proud pine trees.

“Look at it,” Ria whispered, horrified. “It's... gods, it's everywhere. How do people live in this?”

“They say the north's not so bad,” said Calixto hesitantly. “They say it's like Winterhold or the Pale out there.”

“Cicero misses Skyrim,” was all Cicero said. Skyrim wasn't Cyrodiil, no, not green rolling hills and warm sunshine and honeysuckle and clematis and broad-leaved trees. But he'd learned to love the place, learned to appreciate the tundra's savage beauty and the Rift's golden forests and the Aalto's hot springs and the mountains of the Reach. This... there was no beauty here. Cicero liked fire and he liked death... but not like this.

Another corner and then a great wall loomed up and nestled behind it, sheltering from the ashfall, was a small town. Off to one side was a large standing stone, some sort of scaffolding around it and a lurid green light spiralling up into the air. 

“What is that?” Aela asked, squinting suspiciously at it. 

“The Earth Stone,” Gjalund said, glowering at it. “The Skaal say it's one of the stones put in place by their All-Maker god, that helps maintain the oneness they love so much. Don't think it's maintaining much now. Don't know what they're building around it. Don't want to know. The thing is cursed, I tell you!”

Aranea glanced at Calixto, wondering if he was thinking the same thing she was. He noticed her looking at him and smiled knowingly.

“Do you think, love of my life, that that Earth Stone might be a good place to start looking for Miraak?” he murmured in her ear.

“I think it might just be worth investigating,” Aranea murmured back. Dark, forbidden magic and the possibility of an evil curse? Sounded perfect.

The boat finally docked in at Raven Rock, sailors leaping off to secure the boat. Once it was safely moored, the six of them exchanged looks, collected their gear and set about getting off the boat. Cicero was first off, dropping to his knees as soon as he was on the deck, planting enthusiastic kisses onto the wooden planks of the jetty.

“Land! Land!” Cicero cried. “Sweet, solid, unmoving land!!”

“I'm glad you like our island so much,” a rather snooty Dunmer voice said. “But if you please, I'd prefer it if you didn't slobber all over my boots, outlander.”

Cicero slowly looked up into the unsmiling face of a well-dressed Dunmer male, glaring down at him. Cicero laughed nervously, getting to his feet and backing off.

“Name and business, outlander,” the Dunmer said curtly. 

“Er...” Cicero turned helplessly to Aranea, his mind failing him. Mercifully, Aranea had given the matter some thought on the voyage.

“Greetings, serjo,” she said smoothly, advancing to greet the man. “My name is Aranea Ienith, priestess of Azura, and I am here to visit the Temple of the Reclamations and pay my respects to Our Lady of the Twilight. This is my husband, Calixto Corrium, and that is his brother, Cicero. I do apologise for Cicero's exuberant behaviour, he is a little... god-touched.”

“I can tell,” the Dunmer said, looking Cicero over even as the little jester protested that he wasn't mad, not at all, he was perfectly sane. “Are these three with you?” He indicated Ria, Vilkas and Aela, all looking completely out of place as they shuffled on to the jetty.

“Bodyguards,” said Aranea at the same time as Calixto said “Ria's my niece.” 

Imperial and Dunmer looked at each other, laughed nervously and corrected their stories. 

“Ria's my niece, plying her trade as a mercenary, business has been a little slow as of late so her and her friend Vilkas came along to guard us.”

“I see,” their interlocutor said, looking suspicious. “And the red-haired Nord?”

“Aela the Huntress at your service, sir,” said Aela calmly. “I've heard there's good sport to be had on this island. I came to see if it was true.”

The Dunmer bowed to her, waving her past. “Welcome then, Huntress. You heard correctly that there's game to be found, be it netch, spriggans, or other more fearsome creatures. Be warned, it will test your skills – there's talk of werebears out there. Best not to go alone.”

“I thank you, sir,” said Aela, smile playing on her face. “I'll be sure to take care.”

The Dunmer nodded at her, waving her past before turning to the rest of them.

“As for you, priestess, we have a temple here but you're out of luck. It's closed right now, to outlanders anyway.”

“Closed???” Aranea cried, genuinely put out. It hadn't been her sole motivation for coming, but the chance to pray and seek guidance at a genuine shrine to Azura had been an opportunity not to be missed. “What do you mean, closed? Why close a temple?”

“You'll have to speak with Elder Othreloth,” the Dunmer said firmly. “He said it's a theological matter. If you're a true priestess of Azura, you'll understand. As for the rest of you, you're welcome here if you're with her, but you're not in Cyrodiil or Skyrim any more. Solstheim's part of Morrowind, and you'll abide by our laws if you don't want to end up cooling your heels in the Bulwark. That means no murdering, thieving, trespassing or fighting in the town. Especially you, Nord.”

“I would never- I am a man of honour!” Vilkas cried, outraged. “I do not go around murdering innocents!” He shot a very pointed look at Cicero as he said this. Cicero just giggled and danced on the spot.

“See that it stays that way,” said the Dunmer firmly. “You break any laws here, you won't end up in Sovngarde, you'll end up in jail. If you run into any problems, sera Ienith, come find me. I am Adril Arano, Second Councillor and adviser to the First Councillor, Lleril Morvayn of House Redoran.”

“I hope I won't need to, serjo,” said Aranea, bowing formally. “But thank you for your generosity. Is there an inn in town we can settle in to?”

“The Retching Netch, just off the market square,” Adril replied, waving in the direction of what was presumably the market. “Geldis Sadri runs it, he'll doubtless have room for you all.”

“You're most kind,” Aranea murmured. “Oh, and one last thing. Have you ever heard of anyone named Miraak?”

Adril's whole demeanour changed in a second, from pompous and imposing to uncertain and confused, almost afraid.

“Miraak?” he said, flustered. “I think... that is, I don't know... I can't place it. But it sounds familiar. Like I've heard it before... but no, I don't know anyone by that name. I don't think.”

“Are you sure?” Calixto pressed, edging closer, friendly smile in place that usually had people spilling their secrets in no time. “Sure that name sparks no memories?”

“I told you, I don't know!” Adril cried, flinching away in terror. Aranea motioned to Calixto to back off.

“It's all right,” said Aranea softly, trying to reassure the man. “We meant no harm. We just heard that he lived here and were curious. It's fine, we'll ask elsewhere.”

“I... yes, yes of course,” said Adril, rubbing his eyes and staring vacantly in the direction of the Earth Stone. “You people head on in. I – I think I need to rest...”

Aranea murmured a blessing of Azura on the poor man and steered everyone else to where Aela was waiting.

“Find anything useful out?” Aela asked. 

“Only that this place is officially creepy,” said Ria. “Aranea just mentioned Miraak and he just went senile before our eyes.”

“This place is cursed and no mistake,” said Vilkas grimly. “No wonder Gjalund did not want to come. If honour didn't demand we stay here, I'd consider going back.”

“If you think it's too much for you, you're quite welcome to leave,” said Calixto sweetly. Vilkas glared at him and he took a step back.

“I said nothing about it being too much!” Vilkas snarled. “This place is cursed, and no true Companion abandons innocents to a fate like this!”

“All right, settle down,” said Aranea, in the tone of voice which indicated that if no one settled down, there would be lightning magic in the offenders' near future. “We need to find the inn and get settled, then I suggest we talk to the townsfolk and find out if anyone can tell us anything about Miraak or if his name causes them all to lose it. Calixto, you and Cicero can head off together, and Vilkas, you can take Ria with you. Aela...”

“Actually, I was thinking of heading off,” said Aela, glancing uncomfortably at Red Mountain's ash cone, visible from the other side of the great wall that was presumably the Bulwark. “There's more to Solstheim than just Raven Rock. There's hunters in the wild and the Skaal Village on the east coast, I was thinking of heading out that way and seeing if there's any sign of him out there.”

Aranea nodded, secretly not displeased to be getting rid of the woman. She always felt Aela was judging her, which was a bit rich from an unrepentant werewolf who worshipped the Daedric Lord Hircine. Getting her out of her hair would be a good thing all round. So she agreed and waited while goodbyes were said and Aela left, heading east out into the ashlands.

The rest of them were pleased to find the Retching Netch did indeed have three rooms available – alas, only with one single bed in each.

“It's fine,” Vilkas sighed, “we have bedrolls, two of us can sleep on the floor, I suppose. At least it's warm and dry.”

“You'll be in a room with Cicero then,” said Aranea. “I don't care which of you takes the bed.”

“Bed!” Cicero had cried, promptly sprawling out on it. “My bed! Although Cicero has no objections to Vilkas crawling into it with him, he's always liked big, burly Nord warriors.”

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Vilkas threatened, glaring at Cicero as he threw a bedroll and blanket on to the room's fur rug. “I find you anywhere near me during the night and protection be damned, you'll be picking your teeth up off the floor.”

Cicero just cackled. “Cicero will just get the Butcher to make him some dentures,” he laughed. “And then he can give dear Vilkas an oral pleasuring he will not forget!”

“Maybe... maybe I should share with Cicero,” said Ria hesitantly. 

“Over my dead body!” Vilkas cried. “I'm not leaving you alone with the little reprobate.”

More gleeful cackling from Cicero as he cooed that sweet Ria had nothing to fear from him, the dear child was not at all his type. Aranea stepped away into the room she'd be sharing with Calixto and closed the door behind her, leaving them to it. 

She regretted that as soon as Calixto emerged from the shadows and slid his arms around her, pinning her into a position she'd have great difficulty casting from.

“So. Husband, is it now?” he purred into her ear.

“It's just a cover story,” she sighed. “Don't get any ideas. It's just easier than the truth.”

“And the truth would be?” he asked, spinning her around and pushing her back until she fell on the bed.

“You're an important part of my life, I enjoy your company and the sex is most pleasurable,” said Aranea, unwilling to give in and give him what he wanted. “What more do we need?”

Calixto just sighed before leaning down and kissing her. When he finally finished, leaving Aranea breathless and flushed, he shifted on to her and began straddling her. 

“I don't know about you, but I need a relationship I can easily put a name to,” he murmured. “I can do without a formal ceremony but the fence-sitting is bothering me. You could at least say the words.”

“Those who understand each other need not waste time on words,” Aranea whispered back. Damn it all, she was a priestess of the Twilight Lady, surely it wasn't expecting too much from her lovers to understand that there were some things that just couldn't be categorised that neatly? “I'm yours, isn't that enough?”

“Stubborn wench,” Calixto growled. “All right, if you won't say it, at least show it. Two days I was on that boat, watching you and being able to do nothing about it. I think I had more physical contact with Cicero, and he was vomiting half the time.”

“My poor darling,” Aranea soothed as she began to unlace his shirt. “Is it safe to say Cicero is not your type?”

Calixto just shuddered, removing his shirt and distracting himself by starting to remove Aranea's robes. Maybe Aranea preferred not to say the words out loud... but more physical demonstrations of affection, that she was very good at indeed. Until or unless she finally admitted her feelings out loud, the sex would do just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, there might actually be a bit of action - I'm sending Calixto and Cicero off on an adventure, Aranea's got some catching up with old friends to do, and then the main quest can get going in earnest...
> 
> Poor Cicero in this one, but it does say in his journals he was seasick on the voyage to Skyrim, and seasick Cicero just struck me as funny as hell to write.


	6. The Work of Night's Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calixto and Cicero investigate Miraak by interviewing townsfolk. They don't learn much but one conversation provides the opportunity for adventure that proves hard to resist. Meanwhile Aranea goes to visit the Temple where she not only finds a familiar face, she's brought face to face with the consequences of the Dark Brotherhood's actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for you! I felt productive. :) This one brings in more of the Aranea sub-plot as we find out why the fic's called what it is. Also Glover Mallory makes his appearance.

An hour or so later, and all five of them were gathered in a quiet corner of the Retching Netch, Aranea and Calixto looking a little dishevelled but both in a very good mood, both with a sujamma each in front of them and looking as if they had lived in Morrowind all their lives. Ria was poking at her drink a little suspiciously and Cicero was sulking because Aranea had got him something non-alcoholic and told him he was going to enjoy it or else. Vilkas was clutching what was allegedly the local mead, already regretting not stocking up on Honningbrew before leaving home.

“All right, first plan of attack is to ask around,” Aranea murmured. “Talk to everyone and anyone, see if they've heard of Miraak. Chances are we'll just get the same response we did with Adril, but it's worth asking anyway. If anyone does respond differently, that's worth knowing as well, who's affected and who isn't. Calixto, that's your job. Take Cicero with you, it's amazing what people will tell you just to get rid of him.”

Cicero pouted into his pureed ash yam smoothie. “Everyone despises poor Cicero,” he muttered, glowering. “No one appreciates him. Cicero misses the Listener.”

Ria patted him on the arm, feeling a bit sorry for him, away from his wife and far from home. 

“It's all right, Cicero, I like you,” she told him. Cicero brightened up at that, beaming at her.

“Bless you, dear child, you are very kind to poor unloved Cicero. Would your kindness extend to providing Cicero with one of the nice innkeeper's special sujammas?”

“Cicero,” Aranea cut in. “We talked about this. The strong Dunmer drinks aren't meant for outlanders, you'll be very ill.”

“Ria has one,” Cicero muttered.

“I said strong drinks, that is not a strong drink,” Aranea sighed. Ria blinked and looked down at bottle in front of her. It tasted fairly strong to her.

“I also want that Earth Stone investigated,” Aranea continued. “Vilkas, Ria, that'll be your job. Get out to that Stone and see what's there. Anything odd, any symbols or markings, anything like that. Don't touch them, just make a note of them and report back to me. I'll have a more detailed look tomorrow with Calixto, but initial impressions from laymen could be useful too.”

“And what about you?” Calixto asked. “Where are you going while we're doing all this?”

“I want to see the Temple,” said Aranea. “I want to know why the Temple of the Reclamations is suddenly closed to outsiders. I don't know if it's related to Miraak or not, but I did not come all this way to pray to Azura to be turned away now. We'll meet back here afterwards and compare notes. Any questions?” There were none. Drinks were finished and then the dispersal began. Time to get to work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

This was hopeless. Everywhere the same answer. Everywhere the same response. From guards, to patrons of the inn, to drunken ex-miners, to the general storekeeper, to the alchemist and her husband, every time Miraak's name was mentioned, previously ordinary and quite sane citizens had become confused and afraid, knowing and not knowing the name. Even the Orc moneylender, not the type to be afraid of anything, had just growled that he didn't know Miraak and to leave him alone.

They were getting nowhere. Even Cicero grinning cheerfully and cajoling that surely they must remember an important person like Miraak hadn't jogged any memories, although it hadn't helped anyone's mental state any. Hopeless.

Finally they decided to talk to the Breton blacksmith. Maybe a non-Dunmer might be more open.

“Hello, hello, good sir!” Cicero cooed, scampering over to the blacksmith's forge, sending ash flying everywhere as he did. “Cicero was wondering if he could possibly buy a steel ingot off you and borrow your grindstone? Cicero needs to sharpen his blade! Make it shiny, gleamy... and oh so deadly!”

“Twenty septims for the ingot and the grindstone's over there,” the Breton said, taking Cicero's coin and handing an ingot over. He looked Cicero's armour over, nodding in approval. “That's some nice kit you have there. Not seen armour like that before. Are those... scales?”

“Yes, yes, dragonscales!” Cicero laughed. “Cicero killed the dragons himself, you know.”

The Breton laughed at that. “Dragonscales! Ha, don't make me laugh. No one's seen any dragons in centuries. They say there's dragon skeletons in the interior, but I think they're just bones these days. Could be someone found a new skeleton and took the scales off that, I suppose.”

“But I did, I did, I did kill dragons!” Cicero protested. “Brother, tell him, tell him!”

“Yes, yes, of course you did, Cicero,” said Calixto soothingly, patting Cicero on the back gently. “Now why don't you get on with sharpening your blades, hmm? I'll talk to the nice blacksmith here.”

Cicero nodded happily and ran off to start tempering his Skyforge blade, leaving Calixto to talk to the blacksmith. 

“Very sorry about that, my brother is very dear to me but alas simple-minded. Fearless in a fight, but he's got the mind of a child.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” the smith said. “Seems harmless enough though. So, did you need anything else or are you just here keeping him out of trouble? Glover's the name, Glover Mallory.”

Mallory, Mallory... he knew that name. One of Sapphire's erstwhile Guildmates and if rumour was to be believed, Astrid's ex-lover. Calixto glanced up, eyes falling on a Shadowmark on the door. Not hard to read if you knew a Guild member who was happy to share her knowledge of them, but even so, he'd not expected to see that one.

“Are you in the Guild then?” he asked, lowering his voice. Glover started at that, then relaxed. His eyes ran over the Shrouded Boots on Calixto's feet – although Calixto had left the armour back in the Cornerclub, he did like the boots.

“That I am. Used to be anyhow. Got tired of thieving and came up here to get away from it all. No falling out or anything, I just got bored.”

Calixto doubted very much that was the whole story, in fact he could tell the man was hiding something, but he wasn't going to pry into Guild business. He'd have to ask Sapphire when he got back if she knew the man.

“But you still have the Shadowmark on your door,” Calixto noted. Glover nodded.

“Yeah. Never know when a Guild brother or sister might rock up needing a hand. Not that there's a lot here worth stealing. Mine closed down years ago, most of the Dunmer are in debt to that Mogrul guy, and there's not a lot elsewhere on the island. Only the Skaal Village, but they're not any richer than Raven Rock. Oh, and Tel Mithryn but you'd have to be insane to rob that place.”

“Tel Mithryn?” Calixto asked. It sounded Dunmer – to be precise, it sounded like a Telvanni settlement, but that couldn't be right. Solstheim was firmly House Redoran territory.

“That's right. Home to this Telvanni wizard who came here after the Red Year and set up a house in the south-east of the island. He's not meant to be here, not without House Redoran's leave, but well, he's a master Telvanni wizard and House Redoran haven't got the resources to spare to send here to evict him and no one in Raven Rock's up to the job. So as long as he's not doing any harm and keeps himself to himself, House Redoran pretend he's not here.”

“Fascinating,” Calixto murmured, already wondering how he could talk Aranea into letting him visit. Easily if no other Miraak leads worked out – a master wizard would surely know if there were any odd occult goings on in the island.

“Listen,” Glover was saying cautiously. “I can't help but notice your boots and... are you, er, in the business yourself, so to speak?”

That got Calixto's attention. It got Cicero's too. He finished sharpening his blade, sheathed it and was standing at Glover's shoulder before the smith had even finished the sentence.

“The Mallory smith would be best off not inquiring too deeply into our business if he wishes a long and prosperous life,” Cicero murmured softly.

“No, no, wouldn't dream of it,” said Glover hastily. “Only... I might have a little job for you. Only a little job, mind, and it's not going to involve a killing necessarily which is why I never did the Sacrament, but seeing as you're here anyway...”

“No killing?” Cicero asked, face falling. “That is very disappointing. Cicero trusts there's coin in it for us?”

“Yeah, sure, I'll pay you,” said Glover, relieved. “See, there's this Imperial in town, Crescius Caerellius. Owns the mine, third-generation miner, it's all he knows. His great-grandfather was one of the original colonists here.”

“And may I take it he's becoming a problem?” Calixto asked sympathetically. One miner, shouldn't be too hard to take down.

“Yeah – no, not in that way. I told you, I don't want him killed. It's just he borrowed a certain pickaxe of mine...”

“A pickaxe??” Cicero snapped, his patience wearing thin. “You would call in the Dark Brotherhood, the sons and daughters of Sithis, the servants of the Unholy Matron herself, over a borrowed pickaxe??? Glover Mallory is not even a miner himself!”

“It's a special pickaxe!” Glover cried, beginning to regret this. Calixto looked calm but a little bored, and Glover had a feeling that when this man got bored of you, he'd dispatch you with very little qualms at all. Whereas Cicero was clearly not only insane, he evidently took his job very seriously. “Look, it's Ancient Nord craftsmanship. No one makes them like that any more, even the Skaal have lost the secret. It's the only thing hard enough to mine Stalhrim.”

“Stalhrim?” Calixto asked. He'd vaguely heard of it, but geology wasn't his strong point. 

“That's right,” said Glover, relieved to see interest coming back into Calixto's eyes. “Very hard mineral only found here on Solstheim, very rare, very valuable, but it can be crafted into really high-level armour and weapons. Now you can see why I might want to mine the stuff and why I'd need that pickaxe, and why I'm irked that Crescius won't hand it back. If you could have a word with the man, persuade him to return it and then bring the axe back here, I'd be most grateful.”

“That's it?” said Cicero, a little disappointed that no bloodletting was involved. “That doesn't sound like much. Cicero thinks Vilkas and Ria would be better off handling that one...”

“We'll talk to him,” Calixto promised. After all, that was what they were supposed to be doing, asking about Miraak. “But I do have a question for you. I don't suppose you know of a man called Miraak? Our organisation has, shall we say, an interest in finding him.”

Glover's face fell, his eyes going vacant. “Miraak,” he whispered. “Miraak, I know that name... or do I? It's all so strange...”

“Sithis, not again,” Cicero muttered, having seen about six people so far do exactly this. Calixto rolled his eyes and decided now was the time to extract Cicero and get out of there.

“Never mind, old chap, never mind, we'll go and get that axe for you,” said Calixto. “Let's go, Cicero.”

Cicero followed willingly enough, still grumbling about them being the Dark Brotherhood not the friendly neighbourhood do-gooders.

“Oh shut up,” Calixto sighed. “If I recall, someone joined the Companions of Jorrvaskr, and this is exactly the sort of thing they get up to. Just think how proud your father will be.”

“Thieving Mallory probably stole the axe in the first place,” Cicero muttered, but he relented and followed Calixto in to the old ebony mine. If the man was a miner, best to start here.

Inside was an old Imperial man arguing with a Dunmer woman, who from the sound of it had to be his wife.

“Just leave me be, woman!” the Imperial snapped at her.

“Crescius, you're an old man!” the Dunmer sighed. “Last time you went there you nearly fell to your death. I don't want to be a widow already, we've not even been married long!”

“We've been married ten years and you know it,” Crescius muttered. 

“That's no time at all!” his wife cried. “Crescius, please, let it go. It was probably just a rockfall killed your great-grandfather, like the East Empire Company said. Even if it wasn't, it's not worth killing yourself over!”

“Whatever's in there killed my ancestor!” Crescius cried. “I can't just let it go!”

“Oh, so you'd rather let me go instead, would you?” the Dunmer shouted back. “I'm telling you, Crescius, if you go into that mine again, I – I won't be there when you get out, if you get out!”

“Aphia, wait, there's no need to-” Crescius called, but Aphia wasn't listening. She was already running for the door, tears in her eyes – or at least she was until she saw Calixto and Cicero standing there awkwardly. 

“Er... are we interrupting anything?” Calixto began, feeling a little uncomfortable. This was meant to just be a polite, if somewhat intimidating, request for Crescius to return Glover's axe, not an intervention in a marital breakdown.

“No, no, nothing,” said Crescius, swiftly coming to join his wife. “Aphia and I were just having a little disagreement, that's all.”

“This obsessed idiot thinks there's something in that mine, something important and dangerous and it killed his great-grandfather!” said Aphia, still glaring at her husband. “Everyone else thinks it's a rockfall and the mine was sealed off due to safety concerns, but not him, oh no. There has to be a conspiracy, doesn't there?”

“Aphia, be reasonable, Gratian was an experienced miner himself, he'd never have been killed by a simple rockfall,” Crescius began. Aphia turned on him, red eyes gleaming in the torchlight.

“You know as well as I do rockfalls are hard to predict and even the best miners can be taken unawares!”

The argument broke out anew, and Cicero sidled up to Calixto.

“If you take the old man, Cicero can deal with the elf, we can hide the bodies in the mine and take the axe for Glover that way,” Cicero murmured. Calixto hushed him.

“I'm rather more interested in why he thinks there's something dangerous in that mine,” said Calixto thoughtfully. “I say, Mr, er, Crescius, was it?”

“That's right,” the old miner said gruffly, fingering the ornate pickaxe at his belt. “Crescius Caerellius, at your service. Did you want something, good sir?”

“We might be able to help,” said Calixto thoughtfully. “Tell you what, if you return that axe you borrowed off Glover Mallory to him, we'll look into the mine for you, see what we can find. No sense you risking yourself. Cicero and I have a lot of experience investigating old ruins. Whatever's down there, we'll find it.”

Crescius did look surprised at that. “Really? You'd go down into that mine and all I have to do is return old Glover's axe? Why, why you have yourself a deal, young man! Here, take the axe, doubtless Glover will be at his forge. I'll take Aphia here home and wait for you there, my house is by the docks, just next to the Bulwark. If you find anything, or even if there's nothing to find, be sure and let me know. Here, here's the key to the locked section and a letter sent to my grandfather outlining what I know. You take care down there, not all of it's terribly stable.”

“We'll be very careful,” Calixto promised, accepting axe, key and letter off Crescius, and waving goodbye as the old miner left on his wife's arm, looking a lot more cheerful now someone else was looking into things for him.

“Brother,” said Cicero calmly, “if Cicero was here with Delphine on an important mission, and he accepted a dangerous job in a dark mine without telling her, Delphine would be very very cross with him. Cicero doesn't think Aranea is going to take this news any better.”

“Probably not, which is why we're not going to tell her we're going,” said Calixto firmly. “Come on, back to the Netch, I need to get my adventuring gear.”

Cicero did not budge an inch.

“Brother,” said Cicero darkly, “you have not been in any dangerous ruins since Cicero has known you. If you die doing this, Cicero will have to break this news to dear Aranea, and she will doubtless be very angry with me. When Aranea is angry, things get set on fire. Cicero doesn't want to be set on fire!”

“Your armour's fire-proof!” Calixto pointed out.

“Not the point!” Cicero snapped. Both men glared at each other, neither really willing to back down.

“Look,” Calixto sighed, seeing Cicero still needed persuading. “It'll be fine. Probably nothing is down there. But if there is... it might well be connected to Miraak. If I was an evil Dragonborn looking to take over Raven Rock, at the bottom of the abandoned mine is exactly where I'd hide out.”

“Cicero is an evil Dragonborn, and if he wanted to take over a town, he would move in, help people, become a well-respected pillar of the community, then murder the Jarl in secret and take over that way,” Cicero pointed out.

“Well, he's clearly not gone for that route, has he, or someone would know who he was!” Calixto said firmly. “Come on, Cicero, this isn't like you. You're normally first in line for an adventure.”

“Suppose,” Cicero muttered, scuffing his boots against the floor. “Calixto thinks there might be things to kill down there?”

“Could be,” said Calixto. “Could be all sorts of things. We'll never know unless we look. Come on, I'll leave a note at the Netch for Aranea telling her we have a possible lead.”

“All right,” Cicero sighed, giving in. If they left a note, at least Aranea would know and hopefully not be too angry if Calixto died. “But Cicero leads the way, with Calixto following quietly behind, and if Cicero thinks there are traps or it is dangerous, Calixto does as told. Cicero has explored these places, be it caves, tombs or Dwemer ruins, he knows the danger. Calixto does not.”

“Yes, yes, whatever you say,” said Calixto, suddenly feeling quite cheerful. “Come on, let's get equipped.”

“One more thing,” Cicero said, grabbing his arm. Calixto turned, wondering what Cicero wanted now. To his surprise, he was unfastening his Skyforge sword.

“Cicero's father probably would not be pleased at Cicero lending you this, but he is not here, and he would surely appreciate Cicero not wanting his dear sister's husband to expire. Here, here, have a proper sword. The Butcher cannot fight with just a dagger, even if it is Mehrunes' Razor.”

“I – thank you,” said Calixto, surprised as he accepted the sword. Just the thing with a bit of poison, he was sure. Cicero was an odd little man, that was for sure, but now and then the bloodlust and the capering and the hyperactivity gave way to a genuine core of kindness. Once you had Cicero's loyalty, he could be surprisingly sweet.

“Just don't break it or lose it, Cicero will have to pay for a replacement,” Cicero said, following Calixto out of the mine. “Come, come, let us leave a note for nice Aranea and begin hunting.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aranea ran up the steps leading up to the Temple, the largest and certainly the grandest building in town. As it should be to her mind. She still couldn't get used to Skyrim, where the Jarl would live in a grand palace, and the city's Temple would be tucked away in a corner somewhere. With the exception of Markarth's Temple of Dibella, all the other Temples in Skyrim were hard to distinguish from private houses from the outside. Had she ever worshipped the Nine Divines, she'd be a bit offended by that. As it was, she was glad to be back in Morrowind, where the populace had their priorities right. 

The interior of the temple was cool, the air fresh, a welcome respite from the reddish-grey sky outside and the constant taste of ash on the breeze. Aranea felt the tension melt away from her body. She could feel Azura's sacred presence, like a song calling her home.

“You there! Don't you know the Temple is closed??”

Aranea looked up and smiled. He'd aged a little, as had she, and the High Priest robes were new. But she'd know him anywhere.

“Othreloth,” she laughed. “It's been a long time, my friend.”

Elder Othreloth stopped in his tracks, surprised. “By the Reclamations. Is it – by Azura, it is you! Aranea Ienith, as I live and breathe! I had heard.... that is, I had feared – I heard about the writ, I assumed...”

“It will take more than the Morag Tong to hunt me down,” Aranea laughed. By Azura, it was good to see her old mentor again. They'd met in the Ashlands when Vvardenfell had still been habitable, she an injured assassin on the run from a botched job, he an itinerant priest preaching against the heresy of worshipping the false Tribunal and not the true Tribunal that lay behind them. Needless to say, he'd not wanted to draw the attention of the authorities any more than she did, and he'd kept her safe while she recovered. She'd not seen him since, but his tales of the true Tribunal had won her over and she'd converted to Azura worship, giving up assassination to train as a priestess. “I believed you lost in the Red Year, I could hardly believe it when Adril Arano said there was an Elder Othreloth at the Temple here.”

“Ah well, not everyone ignored Azura's warnings,” said Othreloth knowingly. “I left for Solstheim after they founded Raven Rock, knowing they'd need a priest's services, especially with the false Tribunal gone. I've tended this Temple ever since, built it up from a simple stone room to the mighty edifice you see before you. Well, well, come in my dear, come in. The Temple may be closed to outlanders but you hardly qualify as one. Galdrus! Galdrus! Watch the doors, will you? I've got a guest to entertain.”

“A guest? You said the Temple was closed,” said Galdrus warily. He was wearing the robes of an apprentice priest, seemed around Aranea's age, maybe a bit younger, and was watching her through suspicious eyes.

“It is,” said Othreloth tetchily. “But Aranea's an old friend and a priestess of Azura in her own right. She might even be able to help.”

“Help?” Galdrus sniffed, seeing her plain blue robes and looking unconvinced. “I doubt it. But if you wish it, Elder, I'll keep an eye on the doors for you.”

“Thank you,” said Othreloth, leading Aranea downstairs to his private quarters. “Now, my dear, come with me, let us have a drink together and catch up. You can tell me what you've been doing for the last two hundred years.”

Aranea decided that the last year was probably best glossed over, but she could be honest about some of it. 

“I've been doing Azura's will, Othreloth. Her visions led me to take a band of the devout to Skyrim, where we built a shrine to Her. I tended it for a long time, until finally Her last vision told me I was better suited to returning to the world. So I did, and now I live in Windhelm, tending to the needs of the Dunmer there. It's not a bad life, all things considered.”

“All the same, it must be hard living by Azura's precepts in a foreign land,” said Othreloth, leading her into his room and offering her a chair, pouring drinks for them both and taking a seat opposite. “Especially one run by Nords. A less spiritual people I cannot imagine – all obsessed with drinking and fighting and a glorious death rather than a good life from what I hear.”

“Oh, it's not so bad as that,” said Aranea, feeling a faint urge to defend Skyrim. “There was a war recently and one leader in particular very fond of grandstanding speeches and beating a war-drum. But he's dead, the land's at peace and most Nords just want to live their lives. Windhelm's new Jarl's all too familiar with what war really looks like, and he's been a friend to the Dunmer people.” It was true, the Grey Quarter looked better than it had done in years. The Dunmer had had money, and with a few of the more archaic laws lifted and a Jarl keen to rebuild his city not his army, most of the jobs in Windhelm had been construction work in the employ of the Dunmer. It was still a bit of a surprise to see Nord labourers and Dunmer overseers for once, but the revitalised Grey Quarter was a price worth paying.

“Well, I hope it stays that way,” Othreloth sighed. “I can't say I'm hopeful though.”

“We'll see,” said Aranea, deciding not to mention that the Dark Brotherhood were making themselves useful identifying bolshy Nords who were up to something and flagging up evidence to the Jarl... for a fee, of course. While Aranea hadn't exactly told Brunwulf her little group of concerned citizens was in fact the local Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary, he was not a fool and had probably guessed who they were. He still kept the coin coming in return for information though. The odd discreet death of a troublemaker was apparently a price worth paying for peace. “So you've closed the Temple, why? Adril Arano said it was a theological matter. The guards say it's an ash spawn infestation. What's going on, Othreloth?”

Othreloth sighed, suddenly looking very much older than his four hundred or so years. “Well, there are ash spawn in the ancestral tomb, it's true, but we wouldn't close the entire place for that. Arano had the truth of it – he and Lleril are the only two who know the truth, other than Galdrus and me obviously. It's the Shrines. To the Reclamations of the Tribunal.”

“Shrines? What's wrong with them?” And then Aranea recalled a laughing Delphine telling them after returning from Blackreach what the Night Mother had just told her. Not to worship at a shrine to Mephala, because they wouldn't do a lot for anyone any more due to Cicero just having eaten her Daedric artefact and a large share of her power. Aranea had been Azura's for so long, she'd almost forgotten that the Dunmer worshipped a trinity, not just Azura. Dear gods, no wonder there was a theological crisis in Morrowind.

“Mephala's Shrine,” Othreloth whispered. “The sacred conduit to the Webspinner, the Queen of Secrets, She Who Brings Down by Stealth – it's gone! Oh, not completely, no. But a few weeks ago, back in Midyear, it happened one night. Galdrus and myself heard a noise like a great crack and what sounded like a scream coming from the Shrines. We ran to see what had happened and when we got there, Mephala's Shrine was – was desecrated! Cracked down the middle! It's not responded to prayers ever since. We don't know what to do. So we closed the Temple and hoped no one would ask why. We can't keep this up forever though. Solstheim doesn't get many visitors, but eventually questions will start being asked. Maybe they already are. Aranea, old friend... I know this is probably beyond your ability, but I have prayed to Boethiah and Azura, and neither answer. I am thinking maybe my service to all three has been at the expense of a deep enough connection to any one of them. You're sworn solely to Azura, and you always saw more than many others who served her. Are you – are you able to pray to Azura on my behalf and ask her what we can do?”

Not a lot, was Aranea's first thought. How to tell Othreloth that Mephala had angered the Dread Father and was paying the price? You didn't, of course. But she'd wanted to commune with Azura anyway. She could at least try.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The Temple was quiet and dimly lit, Boethiah and Azura's shrines well-lit with candles and offerings. Mephala's ruined shrine lay in darkness and shadows, untended, shamed. Aranea felt sorry for Mephala, but the ruined lives from her crusade against the Brotherhood and the fall-out made it hard to forgive. 

She knelt by Azura's shrine and intoned a standard prayer to the Mother of the Rose. She wasn't sure if anything would happen, but praying and meditating was a good way to start. 

To her surprise, the scent of roses filled her nostrils and then warmth, a loving presence like a mother's arms around her.

_“Aranea...”_

“Lady Azura!” Aranea breathed, feeling tears in her eyes. She'd almost forgotten what it was like, to be caught up in the rapture of Azura's visions. Since her goddess had abandoned her. “Is that really you?”

_“Yes, my daughter. I am here at your request. It is good to see you again. How has it been with you? You look well.”_

“You left me,” Aranea whispered. “You cast me out, so I followed where Fate led me, into the Night Mother's service. My lady, I'm sorry...”

 _“I knew it would be so,”_ Azura replied, sadness in her voice. _“Nevertheless, I do not regret it. You should have returned to the world years before. I did not intend for any of my children to spend their lives on top of a cold mountain, their eyes to the sky. You are not a Nord, a child of wind and sky and snow. You are a Dunmer and you are fire. It was not good for you to be alone.”_

“I wasn't alone, I had you!” Aranea cried. “Now... now I don't and I miss you.”

 _“Child. Oh child,”_ and Aranea felt a touch on her cheek like a caress. _“I saw your heart and I knew what you needed. You needed to be loved, needed to be needed. You needed a family. So I sent you out into the world. I cannot call the Dark Brotherhood good, but they did what was needed. They have healed a kingdom by cutting out the rot. You have healed a kingdom, and yourself. Are your lovers not enough?”_

“One's a murderer and one's a thief,” Aranea whispered. “I love them both anyway though. What's wrong with me, Lady?”

_“Nothing. You love them both because they are good for you. And because they need you. They are Night's Children and you are their bridge back to the daylight. You are where you are meant to be, my child.”_

Aranea knew she was crying by this time, and she didn't even care. She suddenly wanted them both there, arms around her, telling them she loved them, just stop trying to pin her down. She'd only marry one if she could marry both, and she wanted it under her goddess's auspices.

_“Then marry them both, child, I am not going to stop you. Maybe it will not stand legally, but Othreloth has blessed consensual multiple marriages before now. Help him out and he will happily wed you with your Butcher and your Thief, should they agree to it. Aranea, dearest servant, faithful worshipper, I love you as I love all my children, but you do think too much sometimes.”_

Aranea felt a little insulted by that, in fact she could think of at least two members of the Brotherhood who could stand to think a little more. However, she wasn't one to criticise Azura. Truth be told, it was just good to feel her presence again.

“What must I do?” Aranea whispered. “I can hardly tell Othreloth Mephala's dead and my brothers and sisters killed her, can I?”

_“No, so you must be subtle and deceitful. She was a goddess of lies and secrets, it is only fitting we deceive her erstwhile worshippers. I have met with your Mother of the Night, you know. She has claimed Mephala's realm as her own in payment for helping Sanguine and Sheogorath out. I visited her and she was surprised to have a Daedric Prince calling on her merely to see how she was. It pleased her. I asked her what she needed and she said she envied the love my worshippers have for me, whereas she only has her priesthood of the Night to call her praises. She has Shrines now, but only in your Sanctuaries. She had the Temple in Markarth, I hear, but it is mostly business, not worship, transacted through there.”_

Since the recent attack, nothing at all was going through there, but Aranea had heard of a recent phenomenon of actual worshippers showing up, bringing flowers and offerings and wishing only to commune with the Night Mother and Dread Father. It had been only a handful of people, but it had been unnerving, or so Eola had said in her last letter. Welcoming though, especially as they'd left donations. Clearly the Night Mother wanted more, or so she'd told Azura anyway.

“You want me to set up a shrine to the Night Mother here and say it's a shrine to Mephala,” Aranea whispered. Dear gods, but this was heresy of the highest order, blasphemy even. She couldn't face lying to Othreloth like this. The truth however was worse. Still, Azura seemed to think it was a good idea. Who was she to disobey?

_“Indeed. It is the only solution. Mephala is in no position to object and by the time she is, you will be long dead. The truth would destroy Morrowind as surely as Red Mountain ever did. And this at least will please the Night Mother. It's certainly not in my interest for people to lose faith in the Reclamations, or to discover a god can die. Boethiah is in agreement too – best for mortals not to know. Do this, Aranea. Do this for me and know that I have blessed you and will continue to do so.”_

“Thank you, my lady,” Aranea whispered, getting up.

 _“Walk in the Twilight, Aranea,”_ came the response. Then Azura was gone. 

Othreloth was waiting in the lobby, sitting nervously on the bench.

“Well?” he asked, picking at his robes. “Did she respond? Did the Lady of Twilight have answers?”

Aranea nodded sombrely, the gloom of the hallway making it easy to look forbidding and funereal.

“She granted me the honour of her presence, Othreloth. My friend, it is bad. Mephala is... displeased. Not with you personally, I hasten to add. But with the Dunmer in general.”

“I knew it!” Othreloth snapped. “It's those Almsivist heretics, isn't it? Claiming their Tribunal is the true one and that the Almsivi have not vanished, only gone beyond into other realms. Does she want one killed? That Velothi woman would make an ideal sacrifice...”

“No, no, it's not the Almsivists,” said Aranea hastily. “No, it's that her worship has lost its spark. Everyone worships her as a goddess of secrets and intrigues and sex, and everyone seems to have forgotten she deals in death too. She's displeased with her shrines and destroyed them. She wants them rebuilt. And... you're not going to like how she wants them rebuilt. Each new shrine, someone's going to have to die to consecrate it. Be soul trapped and the gem used to power the shrine.”

Othreloth had gone pale. “But that's barbaric!”

“You see,” said Aranea sadly, inwardly marvelling about how easy this was proving to be. “That's exactly Mephala's point. You're meant to be a priest of hers and when she asks for holy murder, you quail from her. Honestly Othreloth, you spent all that time back in Vvardenfell running from the Ministry of Truth and daring to preach the true Tribunal when the Almsivi were at their height, and yet you shrink from Mephala's will when it's revealed to you?”

“I...” Othreloth sighed, defeated. “You're right, of course. We do Mephala's bidding, we can't expect her to conform to ours. But how?? I'm a priest, I can't just start sacrificing people to her! Heretics are one thing, innocent citizens are something else!”

“Leave that to me,” said Aranea. “I... know people back in Skyrim. I'll get you the materials, including that filled soul gem, and leave you full instructions on how to make the shrine. Also, she has a new epithet she wants you to use in addition to her more usual ones. She wants to be referred to as the Mother of the Night. Do you think you could get that into her liturgy?”

Strictly speaking, this was Aranea's own idea rather than a goddess's, but she imagined the Night Mother wouldn't mind. Fortunately, Othreloth appeared to never have studied the Dark Brotherhood in any detail, or if he had, he'd read one of the sources that identified Mephala with the Night Mother. 

“It shall be done,” Othreloth promised. “You meant it about sourcing the materials for me?”

“Of course!” said Aranea, finally allowing herself a smile. “Anything for the true Tribunal, hmm? Now, come with me, I'll write it all down for you. I imagine you might want to send inquiries to the Temple in Blacklight too. It's entirely possible they're having the same problem. I'm sure they'd welcome assistance.” Well, if she was going to do this, she might as well go all in and have the whole of Morrowind getting in on the act. She just hoped Azura knew what she was doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Aranea. How likely is it this will come back and bite you on the arse? ;)
> 
> Next chapter will be Cicero and Calixto doing the Final Descent, and then the Dragonborn MQ gets going properly. There might even be Neloth. :D


	7. Hircine's Children and Miraak's Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aranea's dying to tell someone about her coup, so it's no wonder she's not pleased to find both her brothers off on an adventure without her. Meanwhile Aela's on an adventure of her own as her ulterior motive for visiting Solstheim becomes apparent, albeit less promising than she'd hoped. All that pales though when her new friends tell her about the danger hanging over Solstheim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update! This is where things start getting interesting as we find out what Aela's been up to.

Aranea raced into the Retching Netch, hoping desperately that Calixto and Cicero were back. She'd not seen them in the marketplace, so hopefully they were in here having a drink. Hopefully still sober. She was doing her best to keep Cicero out of trouble, and if he did incur any bounties or break anything, she was sending an itemised bill to Delphine, but all the same, she was hoping to avoid any trouble.

Right now though, she was too excited to care about that. She'd just essentially swindled the whole of Morrowind into trading worship of Mephala for worship of the Night Mother, and by Sithis, she needed a strong sujamma and someone to hyperventilate at. Calixto would get it. Calixto would understand, her darling, understanding, murderous husband – well, maybe not just yet he wasn't, but one day soon, once she'd had a chance to calm down and think about Azura's words and talk to Sapphire as well... And if Calixto wasn't there, Cicero would do – he'd be ecstatic, in fact he'd either faint from shock or run round the cornerclub squealing.

She needed a drink. A very strong drink.

Sadly for her, neither of her fellow assassins were there, just a few citizens of Raven Rock. Damn. Well, she could still have that strong drink.

“Geldis,” she said, counting out her septims. “One of your special sujammas. The kind you don't serve to outlanders.”

“As you wish, priestess,” Geldis noted, producing an urn from under the bar and a small clay tumbler, filling the tumbler and leaving her to drink it. There was steam rising from the surface of the drink, a mark of quality in Aranea's opinion. Meant it was the sort of drink you couldn't serve in metal containers as it would melt right through them. Aranea closed her eyes and knocked the entire contents back in one, shuddering as the heat and bitter aftertaste swept through her. Now that hit the spot.

“Another,” she gasped, pushing more coins over. Geldis refilled the tumbler for her.

“Special occasion?” he asked, curious. 

“Yes. No. Perhaps. Geldis, has my husband been in here? And his little brother, the red-haired one with the hat.”

Geldis patted his jacket. “Now that you mention it, yes, they were here. Said they'd be gone for a while, something had come up. They left you a note.”

Aranea pursed her lips and took it from him. That was unexpected. She didn't like the sound of that.

_“My dear Aranea,_

_Talking to the mine owner, one Crescius Caerellius, has provided a possible lead. Apparently there are some sort of ruins down there, sealed off for centuries by the East Empire Company. Cicero and I are going to take a look in case our friend is using them. Depending on if there's anything there to find, we might be back within the hour or we might be out all night._

_We will be back as soon as we're done with news of what we find._

_All my love,  
Calixto”_

Aranea downed her sujamma in one and slammed the tumbler on to the bar, her hands shaking.

“THAT STUPID BLOODY N'WAH!” she screamed, Ancestor's Wrath spontaneously flickering into life, igniting the paper and burning it to ashes in her hand.

“All right, I think you've had enough,” said Geldis sternly, putting the bottle away. “Ash yam smoothies for you tonight.”

“BUGGER THE FETCHING ASH YAM SMOOTHIES!” Aranea shouted. All round the cornerclub, patrons could be seen huddling away, becoming very interested in cracks in the floor or knot-holes on their tables.

“Er... Aranea?”

“What???” Aranea shouted, swirling around... and lowered her hands, seeing Vilkas and Ria watching her nervously. 

“Oh. It's you.” Aranea shook herself down while the fires of Ancestor's Wrath died down, getting herself back under control. Honestly, even two Sadri Specials shouldn't shake her control quite that much. “Well, did you find anything?”

“Not a lot,” said Ria, still looking anxiously. “Er, are you quite all right? You... you don't normally shout. Not even at Cicero.”

“No. Yes. I'm fine, it's just... Azura's mercy, it's Calixto and Cicero. They've gone off exploring down the old ebony mine, looking for Azura knows what. They didn't even tell me in person or invite me or anything. This is all Cicero's fault, I just know it. He's had some mad impulse and dragged my husband into it.”

“Oh dear,” said Vilkas sympathetically. “Did you want me to go after them? They can't have gone far.”

“No, no,” Aranea sighed. “I'm sure they'll be fine. Cicero's been down a hundred dangerous ruins and caves in his time, he knows what he's doing. They'll probably be back in the morning, all eager to tell the story of all the things they've killed. Come on, let's sit down and get some food. You can tell me what you found out at the Earth Stone.”

Not a lot, the answer to that one turned out to be. The stone was alive with some sort of magic, a mysterious green light shooting into the sky. Asking the locals about it had gleaned that it never used to do that, and the building works around it were recent as well. 

“But get this,” said Ria. “No one knows who put them there or why. No one ever sees anyone working on them. They just started to appear one day and have been building themselves ever since.”

“Nothing just builds itself,” said Aranea sceptically. “Were there any tools lying around? What sort of state were they in?”

“Plenty,” said Vilkas. “All showing signs of recent wear and tear, and all with a very thin layer of ash on them. Way that mountain spews out ash, those tools must have been used in the last day or so or they'd be covered in the stuff.”

“This makes no sense,” said Aranea, shaking her head. “Recent construction work, and no one sees or hears a thing. So it must be happening at night, but how no one hears it... Any footprints in the ash?”

“Plenty but they all looked human... or elven, rather. Ordinary shoes and workboots, nothing unusual, and the ashfall obscured a lot of it,” said Ria. “You can guess what sort of reaction we got when we pushed for answers though. Confusion, anxiety, denial, the exact same way Adril responded when you asked him about Miraak.”

“That's not a coincidence,” Aranea murmured. “All right, that stone is part of all this. Tonight, we rest. I slept on a deck last night, damned if I'm staking out a standing stone tonight. Tomorrow we will hopefully have the other two back and then we can see if they have anything worth hearing about. Then tomorrow night, we're going to be watching that stone. Something's building around it. I want to know what.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

It was not long after that they retired to bed, Aranea clearly starting to suffer the after-effects of too many Specials, and Ria longing for a comfy bed that didn't move while she was trying to sleep.

She was surprised to hear a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” she called, straightening her night-shift and pulling the blankets across her lower half. 

“It's me,” she heard Vilkas saying, and was it her or did he sound a little nervous? “Can I come in? I don't mean any impropriety.”

Ria smiled. Bless him, he could be so old-fashioned sometimes. Anyone would think she was some blushing virgin from the way he acted. Even if she had been, she habitually shared a dormitory with Torvar and Athis. That was enough to get rid of any lingering prudishness.

“It's fine,” she laughed. “Come in, I'm not naked or anything.”

The door creaked open and Vilkas edged in, carrying his pack and fully dressed still in his armour. He still looked nervous.

“Ria, I – I don't want to inconvenience you or put you to any trouble, and I promise my intentions are strictly honourable, but...”

“But what?” Ria asked, tilting her head and frowning. “Did you need something?”

Vilkas took a deep breath as if steeling himself.

“Can I sleep in here tonight?” he said in a rush. “I don't mean any harm, I swear it, but I can't – oh gods, if he comes back in the middle of the night...”

“You're scared of Cicero?” Ria said, starting to smile. Well, yes, most people were and with good reason, but Cicero was still technically a Companion and applied the Tenets to them as well as the Brotherhood. She couldn't imagine him actually hurting Vilkas. “I thought you'd be pleased he's not here, you can have the bed.”

Vilkas shuddered, dropping his pack on the floor. “He's claimed the bed, if he comes back and finds me in it... Talos help me, you can imagine. You'll hear the squealing from here. I'll be fighting the little bastard off. I can't even hit him, he'd probably enjoy it rough.”

Ria bit her lip, trying to avoid bursting into laughter. It really wasn't funny, and Cicero probably wouldn't really molest Vilkas anyway. All the same, Vilkas looked terrified and if it was her pleading for safety from a potential sexual assault, she'd want someone to take it seriously.

“Of course you can stay in here,” she said gently. “Put your bedroll on the rug over there. I promise I won't look or anything.”

“You looking doesn't worry me,” said Vilkas, yawning as he began to unfasten his cuirass, then blushed again as he realised what he'd just said. “Er, not that I... er... Shor's bones, at least I'm not afraid you're going to rape me in my sleep.”

“Cicero wouldn't rape you,” said Ria, still grinning as she settled back down into her bed, staring at the ceiling and not at Vilkas getting his armour off, definitely not. “He's not like that.”

“So he's fine with torture and murder, but not rape,” said Vilkas wearily. “That's not comforting, Ria.”

“He wouldn't hurt you,” said Ria sleepily, eyes fluttering closed. “He's one of us. He has a sense of honour. He likes you.”

“If that's what he's like around people he likes, I'd hate to see what he does to people he hates,” Vilkas muttered. 

Ria didn't answer. She'd already drifted off to sleep, still smiling. Vilkas looked over, feeling a smile cross his own face as he watched her in the lamplight. She looked so peaceful. So innocent. So... sweet. Ridiculous, he knew, she was as fierce a warrior as any in Jorrvaskr. He might push her hard in training but only so she could be the best she could be and defend herself against any enemy. As it was, she could already deal with most things. He just worried, that was all. Companions didn't often live to a ripe old age, and if anything happened to her...

He put the bedroom light out and retired to his bedroll. Foolish to worry about her tonight. They were safe in an inn room in a small frontier town with hardly any crime. What could possibly hurt them tonight?

~~~~~~~~~~~

So far the mine was proving as expected – dark, dusty, nothing but a few old ebony veins with no ebony and a few skeevers and spiders, all of which fell to Cicero's arrows as he crept up on them and shot them without a sound. No challenge at all, but still satisfying. Cicero loved the squishy crunch of arrow hitting flesh, or piercing chitin. No better sound, apart from the hissing sound of daggers slicing flesh and the screams as they died. But alas, no stabbing for him. Not yet anyway. 

Calixto had remained quiet, moving silently behind him, staying out of the way, and for that Cicero was thankful. At least the man was well-trained, a true Dark Brother and not some idiot scholar wanting a bodyguard. Cicero found his presence oddly comforting.

Right up until he started talking anyway.

“Cicero,” Calixto whispered. “Can I ask you something?”

Cicero sighed. If this was a stupid question about what it was like killing dragons...

“What is it, brother?”

“How do you manage being married to a woman fifteen years older than you, knowing she's likely to die before you? I... just wondered.”

Of all the questions Cicero had been expecting, that was not one of them.

“I... Cicero doesn't really give it much thought. Delphine is in good health, does not take unnecessary risks, is protected by her Family. She is likely to live for another ten, fifteen, maybe twenty or even thirty years. Whereas Cicero fights dragons and pokes around ancient Nord ruins and murders people and risks death all the time. Cicero might live another thirty years or he might die horribly in Mother's service tomorrow. Cicero doesn't know. So Cicero pays it no mind. Delphine will get older and frailer, but Cicero doesn't mind. Cicero tended Mother for twelve years. Cicero will tend his Listener too. Why does my brother ask?” Cicero had turned by this point to see Calixto looking unusually pensive.

“Aranea's not fifteen years older, she's 230 years older and barely even middle-aged,” said Calixto softly. “Dunmer can live to six hundred years, sometimes seven hundred if they're lucky. I'm forty-nine and not getting any younger. I've got ten good years left in me, fifteen if I look after myself, then I'll likely be too old for contracts. Might live another ten years after that, more if I'm lucky, but I'll be an old man. Aranea won't even look any different.”

Ah. Now Cicero began to understand what brought this on.

“You saw Aphia and Crescius together and saw your future,” Cicero guessed. “Oh but brother, they have been married a decade, he is eighty or near enough, he was an old man when she married him. It is not the same!”

“No,” said Calixto softly. “It's worse because at least Aphia has never known him as anything else. Aranea will watch me age before her eyes while she does not. No wonder she's not said she loves either of us – even the forty years she's likely got with Sapphire must be nothing to an elf. Why'd she want to tie herself to someone who's going to fall apart before her eyes?”

“Brother,” said Cicero quietly. Well, that explained a lot. But to hear Aranea had not said the words... that was a surprise. He knew she was the quiet type but in Cicero's experience they were the most passionate underneath. Delphine certainly was. “Brother, even if Aranea does not say it, she must surely feel it. Cicero has seen the two of you together, she is fond of you and worries about you.”

“Fond is not in love with,” said Calixto bitterly. “Damn it all, the woman means the world to me, I spent years mourning Lucilla and that Dunmer walks into my life and heals me overnight without even knowing it. I just wish she felt the same. But it's like I've barely made a dent in her life. Damn, Cicero, should I just cut my losses, leave her to Sapphire and move back to Karthspire?”

Cicero was fully prepared to admit he was no expert on matters of the heart, but he was married and also in love with Eola, and had been engaged once before and had far far more than his fair share of seductions in the past, so all that had to count for something.

“Certainly not,” said Cicero firmly. “She lives with you, clearly cares for you and shares your bed. If you leave her, Cicero assures you that will be it, she will not wish to see you again. So Cicero's advice is to stay as you are, enjoy the sex and companionship and make the most of what you have, and it may be you will get what you want eventually. You will not get it if you leave. Besides, if you end up at Karthspire, you will end up bewailing your misfortune and crying on Cicero and Ralof's shoulders and drinking all our mead and wine and being no good to anyone. Brother, Cicero is very fond of you, but if that state of affairs were to transpire, Cicero would happily risk the Wrath of Sithis if it meant an end to the whining.”

Calixto stared at him for a full second before bursting out laughing. 

“Dearest Cicero,” he said, smiling fondly at his fellow assassin. “Trust you to tell it like it is. You're right of course, it's not going to make things any better by leaving. I guess I shall just have to make the best of it. Aranea would tell me if she was unhappy, wouldn't she?”

“Dear brother, if Aranea was unhappy, we'd all know about it,” Cicero sighed. “Come, come, we are nearly at the bottom.”

The path led down to a wooden wall, a hole cut in it that would be just large enough for them to pass through if it didn't have planks nailed across it.

“I take it this is the way through?” Calixto asked, looking over Cicero's shoulder. 

“Must be,” Cicero said, poking at the planks. The nails were rusting and the planks were rotting, it shouldn't be too hard to break through. Maybe if...

“FUS RO DAH!!!!”

The ground shook and dust went everywhere, but the planks remained stubbornly in place. 

“Dammit!” Cicero swore. “How are we to find anything if we can't even get past??”

“Get out of the way,” Calixto sighed wearily. “Let's see if we can do this without a cave-in, hmm? I'd rather not end up in the Void and the first thing the Night Mother sees of us is me throttling you for getting us killed.”

“Cicero wouldn't get us killed!” Cicero protested. Calixto ignored him, poking at the planks before pulling out Mehrunes' Razor.

“Not a word to Sapphire,” he whispered, before sliding the tip between plank and wall and starting to prise the planks off. Sure enough, the end of one came loose and it fell to the ground. 

“Ooh, ooh, Cicero sees!” Cicero cried, skipping on the spot before producing his own Daedric dagger and starting work on the other side. Before long, the planks were down and Cicero was skipping through. On the other side was a locked gate. Calixto tried the key Crescius had given them, and the gate swung open.

“Well,” said Calixto, after a moment staring down the tunnel. “After you, Dragonborn.”

Cicero paused, pursing his lips. Then a flick of his wrist and Lucien Lachance shimmered into being.

“Keeper,” Lucien murmured, looking around. “Where is it this time? Am I likely to be dealing with Falmer, bandits, Dwemer things, Draugr or all four this time?”

“No bandits,” said Cicero softly. “And I don't know if the Dwemer ever lived on Solstheim. We won't know until we get there.”

“I see,” said Lucien, turning to Calixto. “Greetings, Butcher. Do you know more about this place?”

“Not a thing,” said Calixto cheerfully. “Exciting, isn't it?”

Lucien just rolled his eyes. “A desecrated Temple and an assault against a Speaker to avenge, and here the two of you are chasing rumours down an old mine. I hope for your sakes' there's something important down here. I'd hate to see you in the Void sooner than expected due to Aranea losing her temper.”

“Whatever's down here, it can't be any scarier than Aranea when she's angry,” said Calixto. “Lead on, Cicero.”

Taking a deep breath, Cicero had ducked through the gate and started creeping forward. Time to explore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Aela had assumed her beast form as soon as she was clear of the town, shaking her fur out as everything changed and became so much simpler. Freedom! Sweet, sweet freedom, wind in her hair and a whole island to explore.

That was if she could just get away from the ash. Cloying, sticky, making her nose itch and eyes water and tasting constantly of fire. Aela hated it. Still, she could see mountains in the centre. Once she got up there, beyond the snowline, maybe the air would be clearer. Maybe. 

She'd not gone far when she saw it – no, him. A roar and then he was on her, claws swiping at her face. Aela ducked back, just out of reach, and struck back, hissing and snarling at her opponent. A were, like her – a bear, unlike her. She'd heard stories of such creatures but had discounted them. More fool her. 

She fought hard, but he was stronger, and Hircine's blood flowed in both their veins. No sense appealing to her lord for help – he never intervened in hunts when either side could win. Still, she did have something her opponent did not. She howled. 

Two wolf spirits leaped from out of nowhere, snapping and biting at the werebear. Aela ignored the cuts on her arms and across her chest and sprang back in while the bear was distracted. She raked her claws across his chest, making him roar in pain and raised her claws back to strike. 

Fur rippled, her vision greyed and she shifted back. At the same time, so did he, and as the wolves faded, she was left there, naked and bleeding, watching an also naked Nord man looking up at her and laughing.

“Well met, sister,” he grinned, looking her over appreciatively. “You fight well.” He sounded like he wasn't used to speaking.

“You are lucky I shifted back when I did,” Aela hissed, wishing desperately to get dressed but not wanting to turn her back either. “Or it would have gone badly for you.”

“Hah!” the werebear laughed. “You have spirit. You're not like the other wolves on this island. Not seen them call wolf spirits to their aid. I'm impressed. Name's Torkild. Used to be a Skaal but... not any more. I like you, woman. Come with me. Be my mate, we'll have a litter of cubs and raise them in the blood. Wolf and bear crosses, claiming Solstheim for Lord Hircine.”

“No,” said Aela firmly. “I am going to get dressed. Don't try anything or I promise you, you'll be in the Hunting Grounds sooner than you'd like.”

“Oh no,” Torkild grinned. “I'm not gonna force you, don't worry. You'll be so much more fun when you're begging me to fuck you. And you will, Red Wolf.”

Aela grabbed her pack and began getting dressed, quietly seething. She wished Eola were here. The two of them could have taken him down, she was sure and the Breton witch wouldn't have stood for this. With her magic, she wouldn't have had to.

“There he is!” a woman's voice rang out. “Get the filthy werebear!”

“Dammit!” Torkild swore. He gave her one last lingering look before snatching up a pair of worn trousers that presumably were his and fled. Without him noticing, a piece of paper fell from the pocket, lying on the snow. Aela finished getting dressed and picked it up, curious.

_“Dear Wulf,_

_I'm writing to you now as I already feel my mind going. I fear that soon I will not be able to write at all. I came to the wilderness to better know the All-Maker. But in the wilds I found a force greater than any we've known._

_It is seductive, this power I've been granted. I know you would not approve, so I don't dare show my face to you. But know that I realized the greatest potential of my strength before the last._

_I hope to one day meet you before the All-Maker, brother._

_\- Torkild”_

So he was a Skaal then. Vilkas had told her a little in Windhelm, that the Skaal were the indigenous Nords of the island who believed in one god behind all of creation, an All-Maker similar to Akatosh. And he had a brother. Aela pocketed the letter. She'd been thinking of trying to find the Skaal Village anyway. Maybe she could deliver the letter for him.

The woman who'd been chasing him was coming back. She was a fellow Nord, blonde hair and dressed in fur armour, and there was a Nord man trailing along behind. Neither looked terribly friendly, but the woman raised an eyebrow as she got closer. Aela realised they were both werewolves.

“Greetings, sister,” the woman called, noticing the blood dripping from Aela's wounds. Aela drank a couple of healing potions – they weren't deep, she didn't think. They'd heal if she kept them clean. “Are you all right? Werebears are dangerous, even for us.”

“I think so,” said Aela, although she was by no means certain of that. There was a fair bit of blood staining the ash pink, and she was starting to feel a little faint. She sat down, guessing her knees wouldn't hold her for much longer. The woman ran to her side, calling her friend over.

“You don't look it, sister,” she growled. “Let's get you back to our lair. It's not far from here. Akar! Get over here, help a sister in need.”

“The prey's fleeing,” Akar snarled. “I could shift and catch him, make sure he kills no more of us.”

“How about making sure he's not killed this one?” the woman snapped at him. “He'll keep, Akar.”

Akar growled but did as asked, sheathing his axe and scooping Aela up. The other woman gathered up Aela's things, admiring her sword as she did so.

“Impressive,” she murmured. “You are different. I am Hjordis, presently of the Frostmoon pack. This is Akar, also of Frostmoon.”

“Aela,” Aela whispered, feeling queasy as the world started to spin. “Aela of the Companions.” She closed her eyes and slipped into unconsciousness.

~~~~~~~~~ 

She woke on a straw pile, furs laid over her. A fire was burning and there was a stone overhang but she was definitely outdoors.

“Where am I?” she whispered. She was in pain, but there were a few potions sitting by her, and her wounds were being bandaged by a dark-haired young Nord woman who definitely wasn't Hjordis.

“She's awake!” the woman cried, and next thing Aela knew, Hjordis was back, along with another man who Aela had not seen before. All of them werewolves, all Nords, and Aela guessed this was more of Frostmoon pack.

“Welcome, sister,” said the man, dressed in furs like they all were, but a slightly better quality set. “It is rare we see another of the blood here. I am Majni, Alpha of the Frostmoon pack. You have met my brother Akar and Hjordis here already. This youngling is Rakel. We raised her after her parents died.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” said Rakel shyly. “We don't get guests often!”

“I imagine you probably don't,” said Aela, looking around her. A crag keeping the snow and ash off and providing shelter from the wind, straw piles to sleep on, a fire for warmth and cooking, a few tanning racks, a storage chest, basic cooking implements... and that was it. She hoped this was just a hunting outpost, but their leader was here, as was the most junior of the pack. Unless they were nomads, this was probably home. “Are there any more of you or is this it?”

“This is the whole pack, yes,” said Majni. “Just the four of us. This is Frostmoon Crag, our home.”

Aela smiled politely, shoving her disappointment away. All the tales of Solstheim werewolves, stories of the Blood Moon just before the Oblivion Crisis that Skjor had told her, all the tales that had led her out here hoping to find kin and a new pack to replace the Jorrvaskr pack falling apart before her eyes – and this was the reality. Four hunters living under a crag, and the sad thing was they probably called this freedom. Aela was all for hunting and the simple life, but at the end of the day, she liked a comfy bed, a jug of mead, a roof over her head and the fellowship of her Companions. 

She missed Jorrvaskr, and the realisation she cared more about her Shield-Siblings than about the blood was a hard one. Still, maybe this wasn't it. Maybe there were other packs in other parts of the island with a bit more to their name. 

“Are there any other werewolves on Solstheim?” she asked. Majni nodded and for a few minutes her hopes leapt.

“A few. Feral beasts. Lone hunters. But the other packs, they're gone. Left, died out, killed by the werebear scum. Hjordis' pack, the Fjalding pack, were killed only a few months ago. Hjordis escaped and we've taken her in.”

“One day,” said Hjordis softly. “One day I'll go back and murder them all.” From the look in her eyes, Aela could tell she meant it too. Poor thing. To lose her entire pack... Well, she knew the feeling there.

“But enough of us,” Majni was saying. “Hjordis said your name was Aela of the Companions. We've not heard of them, are they a new pack?”

“Not heard...” Not heard of the Companions of Ysgramor?? On the one hand, Solstheim was remote, news travelled slowly and by their own admission this pack did not get out much. Probably former Skaal too, or descended from such. On the other... how could they call themselves Nords and not have heard of Ysgramor?

“My pack's the Companions of Ysgramor,” Aela told them, watching in faint horror as no signs of recognition flickered in any of their eyes. “We're from Skyrim, and our home is the hall of Jorrvaskr in the city of Whiterun.”

Majni's eyebrows shot up, Hjordis just laughed and Rakel looked amazed.

“You live in a city??” she whispered. “In... in a building? With a roof and walls and...”

Aela nodded. “Yes. Of course, the townsfolk don't know we're werewolves, and we've got our own gate out into the countryside, but we live well enough.”

Rakel shuddered, looking at her pityingly. “You poor thing,” she gasped. “To have to live like a human all the time. It must be awful. Never mind. You're here now. You can always stay with us, and live as Hircine intended. We'd love to have another sister. Er, if Majni agrees, that is.”

Majni nodded, also looking sympathetic. “Of course. The werebears are strong and always looking to wipe us out for good. We could do with another to help us.”

Majni's eyes flicked over her body and Aela wondered if it wasn't just military aid they were after but the presence of another breeding female. She shuddered at the thought. The last thing she wanted was to be someone's brood mare, subordinate to the pack Alpha. Alpha! The very idea made her laugh. It was like something straight out of the stereotypes of how werewolves lived – barely civilised and all answering to the strongest male as if brute strength was everything. 

Aela couldn't think of anything worse. She'd wanted a pack, but not one where she was used for breeding. She wanted brothers and sisters to hunt with, to fight by her side, to join with and celebrate with after, to tell stories with. She wanted Jorrvaskr. Not... this.

“I don't think I can stay for good,” she told them, fighting back the guilt as their faces fell. “My pack needs me, and I have business here on Solstheim I must attend to. But I do thank you for your hospitality. I might even visit again when I can.”

“I understand,” said Majni gruffly. “The ties of pack are strong, and if you have your own waiting for you in the land over the sea then you will want to go home. I understand. Will you at least share our fire tonight? We get so little news.”

They wanted stories. Well of course they did, what Nord wouldn't? Aela hauled herself upright, wincing a little as she did so.

“I will tell you tales of Ysgramor,” she promised. “I ask only one thing. Do you know of a man named Miraak? I'm seeking him out. His followers wronged my pack. I'm looking to settle accounts.”

Majni drew back, face full of foreboding. “A cursed name,” he growled. “Do not utter it again! Yes, we know of his vile magics. His temple lies in the centre of the island, and each night he sends out a summons, bringing all he can reach to build shrines to him around the Stones. We found out when Rakel fell asleep early one night and started walking away chanting she was far from herself and that she was Lord Miraak's hands. We subdued her and held her here until she finally woke. We none of us have slept since. We are werewolves, it bothers us little. The elves and humans are not so fortunate.”

Aela felt her heart skip a beat, cold trickling down her back. The others, they'd have no idea. As soon as they fell asleep, they'd be under Miraak's spell. She had to warn them.

“What time is it? How long was I out for?” she gasped.

“You slept for a good few hours,” Hjordis told her. “I'm surprised you didn't go into the trance yourself, but maybe you were too weak for Miraak to bother with.”

That stung, but if Miraak wanted builders, an injured werewolf was probably not his first choice.

“My friends are in Raven Rock, they'll be under the spell if I don't warn them!”

“Raven Rock?” said Majni, shaking his head. “It is nearly midnight, sister. You will not get there in time and you won't have your beast form available. Stay here. Eat. Rest. Rakel came out of it when day broke, and we've seen the people of Raven Rock return home at dawn too. In the morning, go back and tell them of the danger. They are werewolves too, surely, once they wake, they can stay awake.”

Aela could only laugh nervously. Vilkas perhaps, but Ria would be exhausted and defenceless in fairly short order, and while she didn't know how elves fared with no sleep, she didn't think Calixto would be good for much without it, and she knew from personal experience that Cicero when tired turned into a whiny short-tempered little brat and would probably end up stabbing someone by the end of day two. But there was nothing she could do. All she could do was sit up with her new friends, get them to show her where this temple was then go and report back. She just hoped Miraak's spell really did break with the dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still figuring out where Torkild is going to fit in to all this, but I'm sure something will come to me. He just seemed too good not to use. Next chapter will have Cicero and Calixto exploring Raven Rock Mine and Bloodskal Barrow and coming across a certain Black Book. And then it's all back to Raven Rock to tell the story.


	8. The Final Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero and Calixto, with a little help from Lucien, go adventuring, only to discover that not only have they bitten off more than they can chew, they might just be being manipulated from behind the scenes.

The tunnel in the old mine hadn't gone on for long before opening up into the kind of chamber Cicero recognised all too well. An ancient Nord tomb, much like the ones in Skyrim.

“Is this... is this a Dragon Cult barrow??” Calixto whispered. “I haven't been in one of these in years!”

“Ssh!” Cicero hissed. “There will be Draugr! Say nothing and creep after Cicero, quietly now!”

Calixto bit his lip and followed, Lucien's ghostly form at his back. He was familiar with the spectre, of course he was, but he'd not spent an extended amount of time around him. The fact that he was a former lover of Aranea's was a little off-putting, although Calixto took great pleasure from the fact that Aranea had ended the affair by kicking him out of her room and shooting fireballs in his wake after he dismissed Azura's visions. Calixto had made a note of never repeating that error.

Cicero crept forward, dagger out, eyes flicking along the walls as he peered in each alcove, dismissing one with just bones, another with a naked Draugr lying peacefully... and then striking swiftly, knife plunging into the next. The thing growled and began to rise but a second blow killed it for good. Cicero went over the corpse, looking a little concerned. He took an ebony sword off it and handed it to Calixto, then as an afterthought, drew out the Sanguine Rose and passed that over too. 

“Do not hesitate to wield it when stealth no longer serves,” Cicero murmured and Calixto nodded, wondering what on earth had got into Cicero. The laughing, giggling little fool had vanished to be replaced with this grim professional. It was a bit worrying, if Calixto was honest.

A treasure chest looted, another Draugr stabbed, and this time Cicero removed an ebony war axe and casually placed it on the ground. Calixto was about to question the wisdom of this when Lucien picked it up, admiring the craftsmanship.

Another Draugr ended up with a knife to the heart, this one barely stirring before it was dead, and then creeping out of this first room towards the stairs, Cicero stepped into a pool of water and then darted off to the left.

“Pressure plate,” he explained, skirting around the mound in the middle of the floor. Calixto looked up at the great wooden spiked gate along the wall and swiftly followed in Cicero's footsteps. Up the stairs, round the corner... and then a Draugr with what looked horribly like an ebony battleaxe in her hands was coming straight for them. She hadn't seen them yet but it was only a matter of time. 

Cicero raised his bow and took aim, the glass arrow staggering her, but not killing her. Raising her axe, she charged them down, desiccated throat howling at them. Cicero let off one more arrow then drew his swords and Calixto decided stealth had served them well enough.

“A CHALLENGER IS NEAR!” the Dremora roared as it sprang into being, going toe to toe with the thing. Cicero had Dawnbreaker and Dragonbane in hand, breaking cover to go and join in, Lucien hard on his heels.

Calixto had no intention of getting involved in that particular melee, but he wasn't exactly lacking in ranged attacks either. Aranea had been very helpful indeed in honing his skills as a mage over the months they'd been together. 

“Careful!” Cicero shouted as twin fireballs crashed behind him. 

“Sorry!” Calixto called, dodging to the left and aiming again. Another explosion as the Draugr screeched in pain and Lucien's axe finally took the thing down. Calixto got up and approached as the Dremora vanished and Cicero was poking the dead Draugr, looking rather apprehensive.

“What is it?” Calixto asked. “You're normally skipping about and singing about blood at this point.”

Cicero tapped Dawnbreaker against the Draugr's helmet, two long and twisted horns coming from it.

“We are not half an hour into this ruin, and already we are encountering Deathlords,” said Cicero softly. “This is not the first either, two of those I stabbed just now were Deathlords too. There will be more. Cicero hopes this is a very small ruin, because if not... this will be difficult.”

“Worse than Skuldafn?” Lucien asked. “That place had many of these.”

“Cicero doesn't really remember Skuldafn,” said Cicero, shivering. “Cicero thinks he ran away from them when he could, and he Shouted two off a ledge without fighting them. They are fearsome.”

For Cicero to admit something was a challenge to kill was rare. It occurred briefly to Calixto to turn and go back... then he remembered what Aranea looked like when angry.

“Then we'll have to make sure we get the drop on them,” he said firmly, fingering his sword. “We need to find something to justify coming down here, damned if I'm letting a few Draugr stop me.”

“Well said,” Lucien murmured. “Come, let us send these bonemen to the Void.”

Cicero just shook his head with a smile and dropped back into a creeping stance again. Time to move on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The next room had several Draugr, all seemingly asleep. Cicero dealt swiftly with them before they could wake and then the looting took place. Then on to a circular chamber with more Draugr sitting around the edges – more than any of them were comfortable fighting. Cicero pointed out three more with the long horns on their helmets.

“Take those out by stealth, if the others wake, Cicero can fight them.”

The three men took one Deathlord each. Calixto crept quietly up to one, telling himself not to panic, this was no different from ambushing townsfolk, really no different at all, just creep quietly up to them and stab...

The thing's eyes opened. Calixto promptly shoved Mehrunes Razor into its chest and luck or something else was with him as the Draugr fell back, dead. On the other side of the room, a Draugr exploded as Cicero finished it off with Dawnbreaker and Lucien dealt with his Deathlord in short order. All around them, other Draugr were getting up, fortunately no more Deathlords but all looking tough. Calixto began to regret coming down here. Time for the Sanguine Rose again.

“I HONOUR MY LORD BY DESTROYING YOU!!!”

All Oblivion promptly broke loose, with Draugr and their Frost Atronachs fighting a Dremora, Spectral Assassin, one Jester Dragonborn who howled with laughter and moved like he'd been doing this all his life... and one necromancer who was getting too old for this and really wanted to go home now, please. Calixto drew his ebony sword, casting a Flame Cloak before sliding Mehrunes Razor into his hand and dual wielding frantically at anything that came near him. 

Minutes later, it was all over as another Draugr exploded at Dawnbreaker's touch and all the remaining ones collapsed into dust. Cicero skipped over, looking unreasonably cheerful.

“Hee! That was fun! Cicero must send a letter home to dear Eola and thank her for the loan of her sword. It's so much fun to watch them burn!”

“This is your idea of fun?” Calixto snapped, brushing Draugr ash off his armour. Cicero just shrugged, grinning.

“It was the Butcher's idea,” Cicero purred. “He's quite welcome to go back if he wants. Cicero is happy to go on alone with dearest Lucien.”

“No, no, we've not found anything yet,” Calixto sighed, trying not to picture Aranea glaring at him. “Let's get moving.”

~~~~~~~~~~ 

More dank and dreary tunnels and while the loot was nice, it was a little dull. Then they found themselves in a wide chamber with a flooded floor... and three Deathlords up and about. Cicero took aim at the one wandering on a walkway up above and the arrow staggered it but did not kill. Cicero cursed and reached for another arrow, but two more were racing down the stairs.

“Deal with them, I'll cover you!” Cicero hissed, taking aim at one of the ones at ground level instead.

“Cover us,” Calixto muttered. “Who does he think I am, a Companion?” Still, he summoned a Dremora again before summoning fire into his hands.

“I SMELL WEAKNESS!”

“There is no pain in the Void!!!”

All very well for them, one was immortal and the other already dead. Still, as long as he avoided the arrows and kept the Deathlords at arm's length, he should be all right. 

Ebony arrows whizzed past from both directions, some from the Draugr and the others from Cicero. Most of the Draugr's were missing their target. Cicero's were not. Right up until one hit Cicero in the shoulder, and the jester cried out in pain, staggering back.

“Cicero!” Calixto shouted. Lucien and the Dremora were busy going hand to hand with the other two Draugr, and the Deathlord archer had raised its bow to finish him. Right up until Calixto took a deep breath, raised both hands and used all his remaining magicka to dual-cast Incinerate at the thing, sending it flying.

Unbelievably, it was still moving. Fortunately, it had dropped its bow, and it was no match for Calixto when it came to hand-to-hand. One strike of his ebony sword later and it moved no more. Calixto helped himself to the Draugr's bow and remaining arrows before running to Cicero's side.

“Help me get this arrow out,” Cicero rasped, staggering to his feet, or trying to at any rate. Calixto sighed and put one arm around Cicero to steady him and snapped the end of the arrow off with the other, before taking hold of the shaft. 

“Brace yourself,” he said cheerfully, and shoved the arrow all the way through. The head shot out of Cicero's back as the little jester shrieked in pain.

“I HATE YOU!!!” Cicero howled as Calixto yanked the arrow out.

“I know, I know,” said Calixto calmly, drinking a magicka potion, placing a hand to the wound and concentrating. “Now breathe.”

Cicero whimpered, but flesh knitted under Calixto's touch and soon Cicero was climbing to his feet.

“Thank you, Cicero supposes,” Cicero muttered, glowering at him. Calixto patted him on the back. 

“You're welcome. Now go help Lucien out.”

The ghost was down and injured, but still moving. Cicero growled and drew his swords, leaping forwards into battle.

“YOL TOOR SHUL!”

One Draugr crumbled to its death, and the Dremora renewed its hacking at the last one. As Lucien staggered to safety, Cicero sprang forward, swords making short work of the creature. Soon, the battle was done, the Dremora fading back to Oblivion and Lucien sitting on the steps getting his breath back.

“Well,” said Cicero brightly. “That was bracing! Does my brother wish to go back yet?”

“Are you joking?” Calixto gasped. “You'd be dead in minutes without me.”

“He speaks truth, Keeper,” Lucien said quietly, deep voice echoing in the now silent chamber. “That was a hard fight, and it will not get any easier.”

“None of them are Dragon gods,” said Cicero sharply. “Cicero is Dovahkiin, and Dovah do not simply give up. Cicero shall not die without a fight!”

Calixto sighed wearily, exchanging looks with Lucien.

“He's starting to take after his father, isn't he?” Calixto sighed. Lucien just nodded.

“Those Jorrvaskr Nords are a bad influence,” Lucien growled. “Is there even a contract for this?”

“Cicero is sure the nice Caerellius man will pay us something for our trouble,” said Cicero hesitantly. Lucien just rolled his eyes.

“You are not a Companion, Keeper!” Lucien snarled, getting to his feet. “Even if they did take you in, even if your father is one! You are not Ysgramor's, you are not going to Sovngarde! You're the Night Mother's! Above any other loyalties, any other claim, any other binding, you are Our Lady's! Don't you ever forget it, boy!”

“No, Lucien,” Cicero muttered, but he looked more than a little bit sulky. Cicero's commitment to the Brotherhood was unquestioned, of course, but Calixto knew he was fond of his friends at Jorrvaskr too. 

“Actually, this whole mess was my idea,” Calixto admitted. “Cicero was against it. If you're going to be angry at anyone, be angry at me.”

Lucien stared glacially at Calixto and for a moment, Calixto began to wonder if this had been a good idea. Then Lucien just snorted.

“Mages,” he muttered. “Always poking into things they shouldn't. Typical. You should be grateful Our Matron is fond of you. Come on, there must be some treasure worth having at the end of all this.”

“Treasure, treasure!” Cicero giggled, taking an ebony sword with a fire enchantment on it off one of the Draugr and leading the way onwards. At least someone was happy. 

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A few more passages, and then the tunnel ended with a huge drop down to a vast cavern. At the other end was what resembled the entrance to a Nordic barrow.

“Oooh!” Cicero squealed before anyone could stop him. “How exciting! Me first!” He promptly leaped off the ledge, landing gracefully on a ridge below before turning and waving.

“Brother, brother, come!” Cicero cooed. “It is only a short drop, you will not be hurt!”

“Won't I,” said Calixto, examining the drop down. “And have you given any thought to how we are going to get out? There's no way back up.”

“Oh, that is easy, we will go through the entrance over there,” said Cicero, pointing the door out. Without another word, he turned and ran towards it. Lucien shrugged apologetically and followed, bound to go where the Keeper did.

Calixto was under no such compulsion, in fact every nerve in his body was screaming for him to turn around and run back to Raven Rock. But he couldn't go back and admit he'd lost the Dragonborn, he just couldn't. Sighing, he closed his eyes and leaped.

The landing was not nearly as graceful as Cicero's and it took five minutes of prodding his ankle and willing magicka into sprained ligaments before he could walk properly. Cicero was already kneeling by some old bones, prodding at a tattered journal and patting a large red greatsword.

“Cicero likes red,” he giggled, stroking it lovingly. Calixto settled down next to him, guessing this must be what was left of Gratian Caerellius. That was not good news, not good at all. The man may have been injured but that he'd died down here, not able to find a way out... Calixto shivered uneasily. If they weren't careful, there might be two more bodies ending up down here.

“What've you found?” Calixto asked, reaching for the journal. “Is this our man? How'd he die?”

“Oh, this is the old Caerellius all right,” Cicero giggled. “He's quite dead.”

“After two hundred years down here, most humans would be,” Calixto sighed, wondering how both Eola and Aranea could have travelled with the little idiot before now and not killed him. “Let's see what he had to say for himself.”

Both men, with a curious ghost leaning over their shoulders, read the journal, telling of how Gratian had discovered the ruin belonged to a clan called the Bloodskal Clan, found in none of his books, ventured in and found the red sword, called the Bloodskal Blade. Sadly, when taking it from its pedestal, Draugr had overwhelmed them, killing Gratian's assistant and leaving him badly hurt. He'd been too weak to solve the puzzle lock and get out, but was convinced the sword had something to do with it.

“Last entry,” Calixto read. “I've lost track of time and my strength is fading. I can't even stand any more. My wounds refuse to heal. I'm afraid this tomb will become my resting place. If anyone finds this journal, please send these notes to my superiors at the East Empire Company and tell my wife that I love her. May Arkay guide me to my final rest.” He lowered the book, hands shaking. Aranea, gods, Aranea, if they didn't get out of here she'd never know what had happened. She'd be heartbroken.

Next to him, Cicero sniffled then flung his arms around Calixto, bawling his eyes out.

“But no one ever found him, and that was years ago, and his wife's dead and he never... got to... say... goodbye!!!!” Cicero howled. “His poor wife, all alone and never knowing if he'd come home...” Cicero dried his eyes and grabbed the sword, looking frantic. “Brother, we must get out of here. We must escape then get the boat back to Skyrim immediately. Cicero has to get back to Delphine, he has to tell her he loves her and then he must never leave Sanctuary again in case something happens! Cicero will not have Delphine left all alone and not knowing!”

“That's fabulous, Cicero,” said Calixto, deciding that reasoning with the lunatic was futile but that his mania might prove useful in finding a way out. Aranea could deal with the persuading Cicero not to abandon the mission part. “Any ideas how?”

Cicero hefted the Bloodskal Blade, somehow managing not to drop it. Had Vilkas been there, he'd have exploded at the way Cicero was handling the thing, but he wasn't. 

“We need to swing the sword,” said Cicero, planting his feet apart like he'd seen Farkas do. “Er. Brother? How does this work??”

“Sithis help me,” Calixto sighed. “Don't tell me there's a weapon you can't use.”

“It's too big and heavy!” Cicero wailed, staring plaintively over his shoulder.

“You are not trying to use it to kill anyone,” Lucien pointed out. “Just swing it. It doesn't matter how you look doing it.”

Cicero took a deep breath and swung the sword. As promised in the journal, a red light blazed from it, hitting the door. Cicero stumbled forward but kept his balance. Nothing happened.

“It didn't do anything,” said Cicero miserably. 

“You must have done it wrong,” said Calixto.

“How many ways are there to swing a sword??” Cicero shouted.

“Try aiming it at one of the two red lines,” said Lucien, sounding as fed up as Calixto felt. That did elicit a giggle as Cicero scampered over to the left hand side of the stone archway, poking at the glowing red crack in the stonework.

“Cicero hasn't seen one of these before,” Cicero murmured. “Cicero likes this! Yes, yes, Cicero shall try this.” Another swing, aimed at the crack this time... and still nothing.

“It's not working!” Cicero wailed, starting to lose patience. “Brother!!!”

Calixto finally lost patience himself. “For the love of the Night Mother, give it here,” he snapped, taking the blade off Cicero. “Now get out of the way.”

Cicero skipped back to a safe distance, watching intently, grinning cheerfully with Lucien by his side. Calixto took a deep breath and tried to remember what little he knew of two-handed weaponry. It was clear the door probably wanted a horizontal swing, so he'd need to stand here, position the blade, step to the left and...

The blade was heavier than it looked, and Calixto did not have Cicero's upper body strength. It swung well enough, an energy beam hit the door, the arch began to rotate, and the momentum propelled Calixto on, over the edge of the platform and crashing to the ground.

“You did it, brother, you did it!” Cicero cheered, dancing up and down. “Only Cicero doesn't think you needed to throw yourself off the edge as well, that seemed a bit unnecessary.”

“I don't think that was intentional,” Lucien purred as he followed Cicero over, both of them peering down at Calixto, now covered in dust and dirt and swearing under his breath as he healed bruises and fixed ligaments.

“No, but it was very funny,” Cicero giggled. “One minute, swoosh, then bang, and then thud! Cicero thought it was Comedy Incarnate.”

Calixto tried very hard to remember why leaving the Dragonborn down here had seemed like such a bad idea.

“Unless Cicero shuts up, Cicero is going to be Comedy Discarnate sooner than he might wish,” Calixto growled, getting to his feet and shoving the blade at Cicero. “Here, make yourself useful and have a go at the other side. Then try a vertical swing each side.” The red gash on the left was now vertical. Had to be worth a try.

Cicero took the blade, cooed that he'd do just as his dear brother told him, swung the blade in a horizontal arc at the right hand side, and promptly screamed as he staggered off the other side of the platform.

It took all Calixto's self-control not to laugh, then he caught Lucien's eye and soon both Imperials were weeping with mirth.

“CICERO HATES YOU BOTH!!!!” Cicero howled from where he'd fallen. “LUCIEN IS NOT GETTING ANY AFFECTION FROM CICERO TONIGHT!! POSSIBLY NOT EVER AGAIN!”

This only made both men laugh even harder. More shrieking and then silence. Then something worse. Whining.

“Calixtoooo,” Cicero wailed. “Calixto, Cicero's ankle hurts. I can't put any weight on it, brother, heeelp!”

Sithis help him. Calixto sighed, and went to see what had happened. Sure enough, the little fool had sprained it. He'd injured his wrist too. Sighing, Calixto set to work. Quite honestly, this was starting to get old. There and then he decided his adventuring days were drawing to a close. After this, it was back to Windhelm and murdering people in nice and safe locations with no jesters in sight.

“Right, you're done,” said Calixto, finally helping Cicero up. “Think you can still swing the sword or am I going to end up doing it?”

“Cicero can manage,” Cicero said, flexing his fingers. “Thanks to his sweet, talented, necromancer brother.” Cicero smiled sweetly, planted a sloppy kiss on Calixto's cheek and returned to attacking the door. Two vertical strikes later, then two horizontal ones aimed at the top of the door, and Cicero only fell on his backside once.

Then one final swing and the ground rumbled as the door opened for probably the first time in millennia.

“We did it!!!” Cicero shrieked from where he was lying on the floor. “We got it open! Poor Gratian can rest easy now. We cannot tell your wife you love her but we can tell poor Crescius you really did find something!”

“You sentimental bastard,” Calixto laughed, helping Cicero up. “Come on, let's get out of here.”

Cicero squealed and ran up ahead, optimistic and cheerful. That state of affairs lasted right up until Cicero made it through the doors and then the swinging axes in the tunnel ahead started moving.

Both assassins stared at the sight, faces falling.

“And we get past this how??” Calixto demanded.

Cicero dropped to the floor and linked arms with Calixto.

“Stay low and do not let go,” Cicero whispered. “This kept Eola safe once. It will protect you too. FEIM ZII!”

The world turned silver and Calixto realised he was as ghostly as Lucien. Well now, perhaps there was something to be said for going on adventures with a Dragonborn. Clinging on to Cicero, he scurried after him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

At the end of the tunnel was a large water-logged chamber with a Word Wall and a Dragon Priest guarding it. It was not the easiest fight in the world due to all the water, but Cicero's marksmanship carried the day while Calixto's magic blasted the Dragon Priest to pieces. Finally it was done and both men split the gold to be found while Calixto cradled the priest's mask.

Cicero was staring at the Word Wall, entranced. Calixto looked it over. It just looked like carved rock to him, not that he'd seen that many. Cicero clapped and giggled in delight.

“Oooh. Ooooh!!! Brother, this one is nice! It... I think it enhances Cicero's other Shouts. Oh, but I think it only works once a day. Once a day?? Brother, that is not fair!!!” Cicero pouted up at Calixto as if he might possibly be able to fix the problem.

“Well, why don't you take it up with Akatosh when we get out of here, I'm sure he'll rewrite the Dovah language and the Words of Power solely to suit you,” Calixto sighed, dragging Cicero by the arm. Cicero pouted as he trailed after his fellow assassin. It had better be a very good Shout to be only used once a day.

Out through the other entrance, and then there was a staircase... and a big thick book sitting on a pedestal. Old, worn, a black cover and some tentacled thing on the front. It didn't look like any book Cicero had ever seen before.

“Brother?” Cicero whispered. Calixto was staring at it, had barely taken his eyes off it. 

“Can it be...?” Calixto breathed, reaching out for it.

“Brother,” said Lucien sharply. “Some things are best left alone.”

“Just one look,” Calixto pleaded, reaching out for it. “Think of the knowledge, the secrets within!”

“Mages!” Lucien sighed, rolling his eyes. “Cicero, talk some sense into your brother before he damns us all.”

“Brother, what is it?” Cicero asked, sidling up to Calixto's side and linking arms with him. “Calixto? Sweet Calixto, Cicero is worried. Cicero doesn't want to bring your charred remains back to sister Aranea...”

Calixto smiled and ruffled Cicero's hair, never taking his eyes off the book. 

“This is what we were after, Cicero. This is why we were here, it was meant to be, I know it. It's a Black Book, I'm sure of it. It's an artefact of the Daedric Lord Hermaeus Mora.”

“Hermaeus Mora...” Cicero whispered, trying to remember what the Book of Daedra had to say about him. “Oooh. OOOOH! He's the one with the tentacles!” Cicero's cheeks flushed red as he remembered sitting up with Eola drinking wine and talking about things Daedric and eldritch, and when it had come to talking about Hermaeus Mora, the discussion had focused on tentacles and stayed there. Eola had a filthy filthy mind, and thank the Night Mother for that because Cicero couldn't think of anyone else who'd have indulged his giggling and speculating about things tentacular.

“Yes, yes, he commonly manifests as a bundle of tentacles and eyes... oh for the love of Sithis, get your mind out of the gutter, this is a Daedric Lord we're talking about, he's interested in serious seekers after knowledge, not some pervert wanting a tentacle up his backside.”

“Cicero doesn't... I mean, I would never... what's in the book?” Cicero said, hoping to change the subject. 

“Cicero! You're meant to be talking some sense... oh never mind,” Lucien sighed, throwing his hands up in the air. “Look, Calixto, this is all very well, but we are assassins, not delvers into the forbidden arts. Let it go before it destroys all three of us!”

“Delving into forbidden arts is what got the Night Mother her crypt back,” said Calixto. “Surely one peek wouldn't hurt...”

“That's what they all say before they get sucked into Mora's realm of Oblivion and lose their minds!” Lucien shouted. “Cicero, come on, Our Lady would not want any of us to die before we'd avenged her Temple.”

“Oh, Cicero isn't worried,” Cicero said cheerfully. “Cicero has no mind left to lose. Come on, brother, let's look inside.”

Lucien groaned, burying his face in his hands as Calixto opened the book and peered in, Cicero joining him.

“During the reign of Elgryr,” Calixto read, “I took notice the various patterns of in the thoughts of behaviors of a troubled populace, and undertook a humble plan to comprehend and, in the end, affect them. Being of ordered mind, I began my taxonomy in the lower classes, which divide evenly into those who – aaack!”

Black tentacles leaped out of the book as it started to glow green, wrapping themselves around Calixto and Cicero who both began to choke, gasping for breath. Behind them, Lucien could be heard shouting “You fools! I told you this would happen!”

Then just as Cicero was starting to think that while this was all very enjoyable, he'd really like to breathe soon, the world went black.

~~~~~~~~~~

Green light bathing them, some sort of black stone below them. Cicero opened his eyes to see a pallid green sky with no sun, and a viscous sea of green gloop surrounding the small tower they'd appeared on. Black tentacles oozed and writhed in it, and Cicero wondered if they all belonged to different things or one Great Big Thing and in all honesty he wasn't sure which was worse. 

Lucien materialised behind them, glaring down at the two assassins. 

“I told you this would happen!” he shouted at them. “Now look where we've ended up.”

“Where are we?” Cicero said in a tiny tiny voice. “Aranea's really going to be quite cross with us, isn't she?”

Calixto stirred, looking around him in awe. The wrought-iron lattice-work, the distant towers made of books, the nearer towers made of more books, pages fluttering across the sky. He looked on it all, eyes widened and then he laughed, and laughed again, picking Cicero up and spinning him around.

“Envious more like!” Calixto laughed. “We're in Apocrypha, Cicero! The forbidden realm of Hermaeus Mora himself! Look at it, Cicero, just look at it! All these books, all this knowledge, ours for the taking!”

“Ruined books,” Lucien snarled. “Books that are unreadable, books that have had all the knowledge sucked out of them by Mora, leaving nothing but a husk behind! Just like he will most likely do to you once he decides you're of no further use to him, like he does to all his servants!”

“Oh what's he going to do to us, we're sons of Sithis,” said Calixto dismissively. “Come on, come on, let's go and find some books!” He took Cicero by the arm and hauled him after, Cicero turning terrified eyes back to Lucien.

“Lucien?” Cicero cried. “Lucien, Cicero doesn't want to have tentacles in his eye-sockets draining all the knowledge out of him! Cicero is a good boy who wants to tend to Mother when he dies!”

“Don't worry, Cicero,” Lucien murmured. “Stay strong, Our Matron will be sure to claim you should the worst happen.”

“Yes, don't worry Cicero, in your case there's not a lot of knowledge there to claim,” said Calixto cheerfully, advancing along the causeway. Cicero would have responded and the resulting fight might have ended up with a certain necromancer getting pushed off the causeway, but a cloud of tentacles and eyes materialised above them.

“I know you, Champion,” Hermaeus Mora purred in a low baritone that sent tingles down Cicero's spine and he wasn't sure whether he wanted to run away or curl up at its feet. “And you have brought the Dragonborn. Oh this is most pleasing, most pleasing indeed. The old one is beginning to bore me. Welcome to Apocrypha, home of all forbidden knowledge. Browse at your leisure, Champion. The Oghma Infinium was just the beginning...”

Mora's physical form faded from view, although Cicero had no doubt the Daedra Lord was still watching.

“Brother,” said Cicero softly. “Is Cicero given to understand that you entered into some sort of arrangement with Hermaeus Mora?”

“Arrangement? What? No, of course not, he just said he was pleased with a job well done after we freed his Oghma. Although come to think of it, he did say he'd see us again and he did mention you – ack!” 

Cicero had shoved Calixto up against the nearest pillar, ebony knife at his throat.

“Does Calixto mean to tell me that this whole adventure, this whole trip down Raven Rock Mine, which was your idea, was an elaborate plot to get a Dragonborn delivered to Hermaeus Mora??” Cicero seethed, face inches from Calixto's own. Calixto struggled to pry Cicero loose, but one of Cicero's legs had hooked around Calixto's and Cicero was strong, deceptively strong. Calixto also didn't need telling how skilled he was with that knife, or how committed he was to the Tenets. He did not take betrayal well. 

“No! No! I swear it, I didn't know!” Calixto cried. “I'm sorry, I didn't know Mora's Black Book was down there, I'll get us out of here, I promise!”

“Swear it on the Night Mother,” Cicero whispered, twisted snarl making even Calixto afraid. “Swear by the Tenets, swear by Sithis that you are a true Dark Brother and will get Cicero home.”

“I promise!” Calixto gasped. “I swear by the Night Mother I'll get you home, Cicero, I promise!”

Cicero stared into his eyes for a few seconds more before sheathing his blade and backing away. 

“I should have listened to you, Lucien,” was all he said, before sweeping a mocking bow and motioning for Calixto to go first. “Lead the way then... brother.”

It was a reprieve... but only a temporary one. Never mind forbidden knowledge and losing his mind, if he didn't find a way home quickly, Cicero would prove more dangerous than anything in Mora's realm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

So far, so good – they'd encountered a few of the beings called Seekers that were rumoured to be the transformed bodies of those who'd wandered in Apocrypha too long and got lost, but those had proven easy prey to the three of them. Loot had been found which had cheered Cicero up a little – but only a little.

Finally, the tunnel they'd been following opened up into a courtyard with a pool in the centre. A courtyard with no way out.

“Brother,” Cicero purred. “Cicero hopes you have a plan for this. Cicero would hate to find out he'd been played falsely.”

Calixto laughed nervously, edging away from Cicero. Cicero just smiled, gliding soundlessly towards him, that grin and the way his dagger twitched in his hand more unnerving than anything Apocrypha had to offer. Then a gate clanged shut, sealing off the way they'd come. Cicero spun to see, shrieked and turned on Calixto, dagger raised.

“You will pay for this, Butcher!” Cicero howled, and Lucien had his own weapons out too. One of them alone would have proved a challenge, both together were far more skilled than Calixto was and they all knew it. Calixto prayed quietly to the Night Mother, Hermaeus Mora, Azura and any passing Divines to get him out of this one.

Someone at least answered. The pool bubbled and then a twelve-foot fish monster burst out of it, horrific noises coming from its throat as it spat black poison at them. Oh good, a Lurker, that was exactly what they didn't need. 

Cicero swore and dodged, and Calixto did likewise, just managing to avoid a tentacle grabbing at his leg from where it sprouted out of the ground. Calixto waved the Sanguine Rose and watched as Dremora and Spectral Assassin went hand-to-hand with the thing while Cicero set to work with his bow. Calixto summoned fire into his hands and began blasting away. It spat ichor at him, and the tentacles tried to grab him, but mercifully the anti-poison enchantment on his Shrouded Armour held and he was able to get free, keeping the magic going all the while.

Somehow their attacks worked – the Lurker began to slow, ichor oozing from its wounds. Its claws did for Lucien though, and then the Dremora succumbed to poison tentacles and the thing advanced on Calixto. 

“Sithis help me,” Calixto growled, redoubling his efforts, dual-casting Incinerate until his magicka ran out. Then another arrow from Cicero hit it in the back and it turned on the jester. Cicero kept firing until it was on him before drawing his ebony sword and Dawnbreaker and setting to work. The Lurker took a few hits but one blast of poison from its mouth and Cicero was on the floor, tentacles enveloping him in black ooze. For a moment, Calixto wondered why Cicero's armour wasn't keeping them off, then it dawned on him that Cicero's armour had been made for a Dragonborn, not a working assassin, and they'd made it resistant against fire, not poison. Cicero was succumbing to the full effects of the poison.

“Sos Fron...” Calixto head Cicero gasp. “Sos Fron Daa-” He choked and went limp. “Mama!” Calixto heard him wail then silence. 

Calixto cast some mage armour and resummoned a Dremora with the Sanguine Rose. Then he reached for Mehrunes Razor and the ebony blade Cicero had given him and charged in.

“For the Night Mother!!” he shouted, hacking away at the Lurker, not even caring about the poison from its claws biting into him, just hacking away with a Dremora at his side and to his surprise, it actually worked. It howled its last and finally died. Calixto sheathed his weapons and ran to see if Cicero was all right. Oh gods, if this had killed the Dragonborn...

He was alive... barely. The tentacles had let him go, but he was horribly pale and the black marks across his face from where the tentacles had bitten into him were not good, not good at all.

Calixto managed to find a Cure Poison potion in his pack and shook Cicero, trying to wake him up.

“Mama,” Cicero whimpered faintly. “Mama, I tried to Shout, where are you?”

“She's right here,” Calixto lied. “She says you're very ill and need to drink your medicine to get better. But you can have a glass of milk and a story if you're good and drink your potions.”

Cicero scrunched his face up but obediently opened his mouth, drinking the potion and the healing potions that followed it. Then Calixto followed it up with some healing spells. Cicero wailed faintly under the magic before crawling to his knees and vomiting copiously into the pool. Calixto patted him on the back awkwardly. 

“There, there, are you feeling better now?” Calixto asked. Cicero slowly opened his eyes, still looking far too pale but the black marks had gone. He was going to live at least.

“Mama,” Cicero whispered, and he didn't sound at all like either a mighty Dragonborn or a deadly Son of the Night Mother, but a scared and frightened little boy. “I want Mama.”

“All right,” said Calixto softly, stroking Cicero's hair. “You call her up while I go and look for a way out of here.”

Cicero nodded and took a deep breath. “Sos Fron-” he began then started coughing. “Sos Fron-!” he wheezed and then dissolved into a mix of coughing and incoherent sobbing. 

“I can't!” he wailed. “Cicero can't Shout! Cicero isn't strong enough!!!”

“Then you need to rest and be quiet and rebuild your strength,” said Calixto, doing his best to sound soothing and almost wishing Lucien was still here to do the Cicero-wrangling. “Just rest. I won't be long.”

A search of the courtyard revealed various potions, a few black soul gems, some scrolls, gold and another one of the mysterious Scryes that cause another set of gates to open with stairs appearing leading up to them. Calixto went to take a look.

Propped on top of a lectern was a huge black book that resembled the one that had got them into this mess in the first place. Calixto reached for it then looked back at Cicero, who was half sitting and half lying on the ground, staring plaintively up at him. Damn it, he could hardly leave the man here.

“Come on,” Calixto whispered in Cicero's ear as he leaned over him. “Get up, I think I know how we're getting home.”

“Home again?” Cicero gasped, clinging on to Calixto. “Home to Mother?”

“Home,” Calixto promised. “Let's get you out of here.”

Cicero squealed faintly, apparently forgetting he'd been regarding Calixto as a filthy traitor not an hour before, and clung on to him as the two men made their way to the Black Book.

“Another one?” Cicero whispered, his heart sinking. “Brother, you said it was a way home!”

“I think it is,” said Calixto, opening it. “Look, see?”

Three green glowing spheres appeared in the air, hovering over the book, each described in the tome as a different power. 

“We pick one each and then we go home,” said Calixto coaxingly. “Don't you want to learn things, Cicero?”

“Cicero wants his Mama,” Cicero muttered darkly, but he glared at all three before poking at the one labelled Lover's Insight.

“Trust you,” Calixto sighed before selecting Scholar's Insight. All three spheres faded away and the book began to glow. Calixto held on tight to Cicero, took a deep breath and touched its pages. The world whirled around them and then it all went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cicero is going to be all right, I just wanted him a little more vulnerable for this one. Makes it easier for him to forgive Calixto if the man's been the one to get him home in one piece.
> 
> Next chapter, it's all back to Raven Rock where it becomes apparent just how strong Miraak really is.


	9. The Earth Stone's Sleepers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero and Calixto are back from Apocrypha, but the trouble's only just began as they return to Raven Rock to find Aranea's wrath is the least of their worries although a mysterious Dunmer mage is able to give a few pointers on how to help matters, with mixed results. Meanwhile, Aela's confronted by what she came to Solstheim to find and the result is disappointment on both sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an assignment due to write by Thursday, so what have I spent all day doing? Writing fanfic of course. Here is the result.
> 
> I did like writing this one, it was so much better than the last chapter. It has female characters again (not until you write a chapter without any that you realise you miss them), I got to play with the quest line again instead of just following it blindly, and also, there's Neloth. Oh Neloth. You and I are going to have such fun together.

Silence. Darkness. Dampness. Dustiness. But torchlight, and on opening his eyes, the familiarity of Bloodskal Barrow. Calixto never thought he'd be relieved to see the place again.

“Cicero,” he whispered, nudging the still bleary-eyed jester. “Cicero, it worked, we're back.”

Cicero blinked, shook his head, looked about him and then his knees gave way as he collapsed to the ground. Fortunately Calixto caught him.

“Easy,” he gasped. “You were badly injured in there. Careful now.”

Cicero was shaking, still clinging on to Calixto, face hidden in his chest.

“Cicero was scared!” Cicero wept softly. “Cicero was hurt and frightened and didn't like it! Cicero isn't going back! Cicero doesn't care about Mora or anything else, Cicero wants to go home! And Cicero doesn't like tentacles any more.”

“You don't have to go back,” said Calixto softly, stroking Cicero's hair and feeling rather guilty at having dragged the poor man down here. On the other hand, Calixto didn't think he'd have even got as far as the book on his own. “At least, I'm not going to make you read a Black Book again. Come on, we must have been out all night, we're going to go back to Raven Rock and tell Aranea what we found and then you can have a nice hot bath and a good long sleep and it will all look so much better when you're not tired.”

Cicero nodded, and still clinging to Calixto, let himself be led out.

The exit proved to be up a set of spiral stairs then along another rough-hewn passage, then a pull-chain causing a door to open into... another catacomb that definitely wasn't the one they'd come in by. Mainly because someone, a male Dunmer someone, was talking loudly and drunkenly to someone else. 

“Gonna pay off my bounty soon... walk into Raven Rock a free man... you see if I don't...”

“Believe it when I see it, boss.” Another Dunmer male, clearly a fellow bandit. “How much coin on your head now? Twenty five or twenty eight thou? We heist that much, we ain't gonna be living it up in some fetching flea pit like Raven Rock, it'll Blacklight or Solitude for us.”

“Huh,” the bandit chief snorted. “Like to pay a visit to Solitude. Heard that queen of theirs is a beauty. Heard she had to marry some old guy from some minor city-state in High Rock. Lady must be desperate for a real man in her bed.”

Calixto looked at Cicero and could tell he was thinking the same thing – it was a very good thing Eola wasn't here to listen to that. Also probably best if this bandit never went anywhere near Solitude, although it would be funny as anything for the idiot to walk into a bedchamber expecting to find a helpless little doll of a woman and a feeble old man, and getting Elisif Wolfslayer and Madanach the Witch-King instead. Very funny indeed to watch for all of the remaining minutes of the poor fool's life.

It seemed this entrance, only able to be opened from one side, came out into another ruin that had long since been taken over by bandits, or reavers as the Dunmer called them. Still, only two of them. Easy prey.

“Wait here,” Calixto murmured to Cicero who, still weak, nodded, remaining crouched down in the shadows while Calixto raised his bow and crept round the corner. One Dunmer, clearly not the boss, was sitting at a table, returning to his book. Ridiculously easy. One poisoned ebony arrow later, and the man was sprawling to the floor, quite dead. 

“Wha- Soril! Who-? You won't even live to regret this!” The bandit chief ran round the corner, sword raised, looking for Calixto but not seeing him.

“Wha- is there no one here? But how...”

Next thing he knew, Calixto was springing out of the shadows, Mehrunes Razor raised, and then nothing as Calixto slit the man's throat.

“Hee! Blood, blood!” Cicero squealed from the corner he'd been hiding in. He scrambled over on his hands and knees, stripping the reaver's gear and splitting the coin with Calixto before tucking his hair back, tying it neatly with a spare leather strip he carried for the purpose. 

“Feeling better, then,” said Calixto, raising an eyebrow.

“Not yet,” said Cicero cheerfully. “But I soon will. Er, brother, you may wish to look away. This next bit is messy.”

Oh good, the Ring of Namira. While Calixto had no real objections to cannibalism per se, chewing on a fresh kill like some sort of animal was frankly barbaric. 

“They've got a kitchen here, do you at least want to cook it – apparently not,” Calixto sighed, turning away and feeling vaguely nauseous as Cicero set to work. There had been a time Cicero had hated doing that. Apparently Eola had managed to cure him of any remaining scruples on that front. 

Of course, that moment was when the reaver chief's wife walked around the corner. 

“Oh gods, Morvenir, no!” she cried, as Cicero looked up, blood all around his mouth from where he'd been chewing on her husband's arm.

“Hello, hello!” he chirped. “Did you want some?”

The Dunmer woman screamed, raising her hands and summoning fire magic into them. Fortunately, before she could cast, Calixto had struck, knocking her back with a lightning spell then driving Mehrunes Razor up and under the ribcage. Seconds later, she was dead.

“More blood!” Cicero cooed, finishing chewing on Morvenir and descending on his wife's prone form. Calixto left him to it, poking around to see if there was anything else worth having. Finally Cicero was done, cleaning the blood off his face and hands and quite himself again.

“Ready, brother, ready!” Cicero cooed. “Do you think there'll be more reavers outside? A whole camp full of them to fight?”

“Undoubtedly,” Calixto said wearily, feeling in desperate need of a shave and sleep. “Just remember, we're not here on a contract or to claim a bounty, we just want to get out as quickly as possible.”

“Yes brother!” said Cicero cheerfully, clearly intending to ignore Calixto's advice and slaughter as many of them as possible. 

“Which means if we're outnumbered, and you insist on fighting them all anyway, you are on your own,” said Calixto firmly. Cicero just giggled.

“The Harbinger says a Companion is worth ten men on his own, so if there are twelve or more, Cicero shall be sure to run,” Cicero purred. “Come on, brother, let us go and fight!” He skipped ahead, cleverly waiting until the remains of chewed reavers were out of sight before pausing.

“Actually... make it twenty two of them,” Cicero said, fiendish grin in place. “SOS FRON DAAL!”

The Shout coalesced and Stelmaria materialised. Oh good, as if Calixto hadn't had enough to deal with what with Lucien nagging them, now Cicero's overprotective mother was here as well.

“Mama!” Cicero cried, holding his arms out.

“Cicero!” Stelmaria laughed, hugging her son. “Sweetheart, what happened, we've been hearing the most terrifying stories then you just vanished off Tamriel! Are you all right?”

Cicero's smile faded a little. “I think so,” he said softly. “We poked into something we shouldn't and ended up in Hermaeus Mora's realm. But we're back now and Cicero is going to deal with this upstart pretend Dragonborn Miraak and then go home and see Delphine and Kodlak again.”

Stelmaria stroked his cheek, sad smile on her face. “Cicero, love, you can call him Papa you know. He wouldn't mind, in fact I think he'd like it.”

“I know,” said Cicero softly. “It is difficult, Mama. He is my father and I love him, I do, but I am not the son he wanted. I think he wanted a brave warrior, someone he could be proud of. He wanted a hero and he got a murderer.”

“You are a hero!” Stelmaria protested. Cicero couldn't help but laugh. Heroes generally didn't feast quite happily on the flesh of dead bodies, but Stelmaria evidently didn't know about that and absolutely no one was going to enlighten her.

“I'm not but it is very kind of you to say so, Mama,” said Cicero gently. “Mama, we're about to go outside and there's probably going to be evil, nasty men and women out there trying to kill us. Will you help us get rid of them?”

“Evil cutthroats trying to hurt my baby?” Stelmaria patted Cicero's cheek. “Don't worry, sweet Cicero. Mama will look after you.”

Cicero squeaked and clapped his hands, leading the way with his mother in tow. Calixto shook his head, trying not to laugh. Dragonborn, hero, virtuoso assassin and the biggest mother's boy Calixto had ever had the misfortune to meet. The sad thing was, Stelmaria probably didn't see Cicero the murdering cannibal assassin, she probably did still see her sweet and innocent little boy in there. That was if Cicero had ever really been innocent, which Calixto personally doubted.

The exit wasn't far away, and Cicero reached for the handle, exchanging looks with them both.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” Calixto and Stelmaria affirmed, Stelmaria already looking quite keen to smack some heads together, and that resemblance to Cicero was more than a bit disturbing sometimes.

The door opened, sunlight poured in and all three went out to kill things.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The bandits had fought hard and well, but it turned out a fire-breathing ghost Legionnaire, a fire-breathing jester who barely stopped laughing the whole time, and one mild-mannered assassin in their wake who would alternate fireballs with stabbing and then raise the corpse to help them out were more than a match for them. At least up until a stray arrow sent Stelmaria back to Sovngarde.

“Mama!” Cicero howled, turning on the hapless archer. Then another arrow did for the archer, this time coming from up on the cliff. Strange. Very strange, although it occurred to Cicero that there were several bandits lying on the ground riddled with arrows that weren't his or Calixto's and surely the friendly fire hadn't been that bad? He looked and saw a flash of red and then another arrow took out a bandit that wasn't quite dead and had been trying to get up again.

“Shield-Sister!” Cicero squealed, drawing his blades and redoubling his efforts. Finally, it was all over, and both assassins were standing on the beach, having thoroughly looted the area. By the cliff, a lithe red-haired figure could be seen gingerly climbing down, wincing as she finally landed, knocking back a potion and running towards them.

“Cicero!” Aela cried. “Thank Hircine. Are you all right, what are you even doing here, have you slept yet?”

No. No he hadn't, although now Aela had said that, he felt very sleepy indeed.

“No,” he yawned. “We should go back to Raven Rock, Aranea will be very cross at us for disappearing all night.”

“You might have bigger problems than that,” said Aela tersely. “Listen, both of you, I know this sounds insane, but you can't sleep, either of you. You have to stay awake. That's how he's doing it, the Stones, the shrines.”

Cicero rubbed his eyes, hoping Calixto had understood that because he had no idea. Alas, Calixto didn't seem to know either.

“Stones? Shrines? What are you babbling on about, woman?” Calixto snapped. “And we can't not sleep, we're exhausted, we've been up all night exploring dangerous Nord ruins.”

“Who's doing what?” Cicero asked, confused. And then it clicked into place who 'he' must be. “Wait... does my Shield-Sister know something about Miraak?”

Aela nodded, relieved. “Yes, he's controlling this entire island while everyone's asleep, and it's to do with the All-Maker Stones, those powerful standing stones like the one outside Raven Rock. Every night, he has the entire population of Solstheim at work building shrines around them. I don't know why or what for, but it can't be good. I fell in with a pack of werewolves up at Frostmoon Crag, they've not slept for months because of what's going on. They're surviving but it's hard. Relying on the blood so much makes you angrier, wilder. They think the werebears are doing the same but it's worse for them, makes them far more hostile and aggressive, makes them lose their minds entirely. They've wiped out nearly all the werewolves on Solstheim already.”

“Werebears?” said Cicero faintly. “What, as in werewolves but...”

“Bear shapeshifters, yes,” Aela confirmed. “Very strong, very nasty. I met one. It was a hard fight.” She did not say any more and Cicero decided not to ask. She was looking a little haunted by the whole thing, although that might just be lack of sleep.

“So you're saying that every night when they sleep, everyone on Solstheim is working for Miraak,” said Calixto, his mind grasping what Cicero's mind hadn't done yet. Aela nodded, clearly thinking the same and confirming Calixto's worst fears.

“By the gods. Aranea!” Calixto turned and starting running down the beach, heading south for Raven Rock. 

“He... wait, Aela is not saying that our dear siblings would have fallen under the spell as soon as they went to bed last night?” said Cicero, eyes widening as panic forced the weariness away. 

“Yes!” Aela cried. “And so will you when you fall asleep, that's why you have to stay awake!”

Cicero didn't hesitate. Turning and running, he was racing after Calixto. Aranea, Vilkas and Ria were all formidable foes in their own right. Together, and united under Miraak's command... it didn't bear thinking about.

~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The first thing Cicero saw was the Earth Stone, that sick green energy still spiralling out of it, building works around it and a few figures still hammering away, despite Aela's assurances everyone was home by dawn. Calixto had already run up to one of them, a woman in robes and was tugging at her arm, pleading with her. Sithis, it was worse than they thought.

“Aranea,” Calixto begged. “Aranea, please, it's me, say something, stop this, please!”

“I am his hands,” Aranea intoned in a dull monotone, not pausing in her hammering. Odd, Cicero didn't think Aranea knew any carpentry. She shrugged Calixto off, intent on her work. Calixto looked ready to cry, head in his hands.

“Why isn't she waking up?” he whispered. “Why are her, Vilkas and Ria still out here, Aela, you said they all went home at dawn!”

“That's what the werewolves told me and everyone else has!” Aela protested. “All the townsfolk are back home, look.”

“But they're not townsfolk,” Calixto realised, hope dying in his eyes. “After all, who's going to care about a few outlanders going insane, hmm? Miraak's not going to turn down free labour, is he?”

Cicero refused to believe that, or rather, he refused to believe that the situation was hopeless. He was Dragonborn, Alduin-Kriid, his Thu'um had brought down Mephala herself, he could break them out of Miraak's control somehow, right?

Vilkas was busy cementing something in place, announcing that he was far from himself. Cicero decided he could wait. But Ria, dear Ria, sweet Ria, a very good friend, kind to poor Cicero and more importantly, someone Cicero could overpower if all went badly, which it probably would. Still, he had to try. 

“Ria!” he cooed, nudging the girl where she was carrying some more lumber and nails over to where Vilkas was working. “Sweet Ria! Dearest Ria! Cicero is here! Come, come, stop working so hard, come and sit with Cicero, he has a most excellent story to tell you!”

“I do the will of Miraak,” Ria said, her voice dull and her eyes vacant. Cicero felt his heart sink. Ria was his Blade, his friend, to hear her say that was heartbreaking. 

“Riaaaa,” he whined, tugging at her arm. “Ignore Miraak, pay attention to meeee!”

“I am Miraak's hands!” Ria snapped, pushing him away, flash of annoyance in there for a brief second before she left her burdens next to Vilkas and returned to the nearby anvil to start smithing more nails.

“Ria!” Cicero cried, but she ignored him, picking her tools up and returning to work. Cicero lost his patience. He'd have to use force, or more specifically, fus.

“FUS RO DAH!” Ria cried out, staggering back under the force of it and dropping her tools as she fell to one knee, shaking her head.

“Ria?” Cicero asked, sidling over. “Is sweet Ria all right?”

“Yeah, I think so, I – how did I get here?” Ria asked, dazed. “I don't normally sleepwalk, do I?”

She was awake! She recognised him! Cicero promptly shrieked and threw his arms around her.

“Ria, Ria, you're awake, you're awake! Oh Ria, Cicero was so worried. The vile pretender Miraak is mind-controlling the entire island while it sleeps, making them build these horrible shrines! And... and he's done it to Aranea and Vilkas and you except you didn't wake up with the sun like everyone else, well, you're awake now but the other two aren't and...” Cicero stopped as Ria's eyes widened and she pushed him away.

“Vilkas!!!” she cried, running over to him, frantically shaking his arm. “Vilkas, wake up! Please!”

Vilkas shrugged her off, ignoring her completely as he kept on with his work. “In sleep, we serve,” he announced, eyes staring dully at the beams he was now hammering together. 

“Vilkas!” Ria cried again, before turning on Cicero. “How did you wake me up? Do the same to him!”

“Cicero just Shouted,” said Cicero nervously. “Cicero will need to wait a minute before he can do it again.”

“Remarkable,” a Dunmer voice said calmly. “Quite remarkable. Everyone else subject to... whatever this is, and yet here you are, able to wake this one up.” 

Both Cicero and Ria turned to face the speaker, and Aela by this time had also arrived, relieved to see Ria had snapped out of it but still looking concerned for Vilkas. Even Calixto, worried as he was for Aranea, turned to see what all the fuss was about.

The speaker was a dark-haired Dunmer man in red and gold wizard's robes, clearly old even by elf standards but by no means frail. He was stroking his beard, red eyes looking thoughtfully at them.

“Cicero is very sorry, but we do not appear to be been introduced,” said Cicero pointedly. “How is it the Dunmer mage is also unaffected.”

“Oh, when one's entire household starts trooping out to the Sun Stone every night, one has to start investigating these things. How is my steward supposed to bring me canis root tea in the middle of the night if she's busy knocking rocks about, hmm? I've placed a magical barrier around Tel Mithryn and as for myself, I make sure not to sleep outside the place.”

“You're that Telvanni wizard,” said Calixto, remembering what Glover had told them. “The one who's not supposed to be here.”

“House Redoran haven't objected to my being here in two hundred years and more, they're not going to start now,” the mage shrugged. “Neloth of House Telvanni, pleasure to meet you – I say, is that Mehrunes Razor??”

“It is,” said Calixto, shifting position so the knife was angled away from Neloth. “It's on loan to me from a friend who was given it by Dagon himself, so no, it's not for sale.”

Neloth just laughed. “Gracious, no, I'm not interested in buying it. Used to own it myself back in the day, it was a fascinating object of study. Up until someone stole it on a dare – used to happen a lot with my artefacts but in most cases I'd find the thief, reclaim my property and exact suitable punishment. Not with the Razor though. Still, it's a Daedric artefact, they change owners when they want to. You don't steal the Razor, it just decides it wants a change and leaves in someone else's pocket.”

Calixto patted the hilt nervously and backed away, subtly positioning Aela in between himself and Neloth.

“This is all very well,” said Cicero, hoping that Dawnbreaker didn't decide it wanted a new owner while he had it, or Eola would be less than pleased. “But Cicero was hoping the wise Telvanni mage would know how to stop Miraak doing this to everyone, and how to wake Aranea and Vilkas up?”

Neloth raised an eyebrow at that. “Miraak, you say? He's still alive? Fascinating, he's supposed to have been dead for the last few thousand years. Now that is interesting, I shall have revisit a few sources. As for waking up your friends, or why they're still asleep, based on your theory that Miraak's behind it all, I hypothesise he normally releases the townsfolk at dawn to preserve the mirage that all is well here, in case visitors from Blacklight come here. Perhaps he feels that as outlanders, your friends don't need releasing.”

“Precisely what I said,” Calixto pointed out. “So how do we go about breaking Miraak's hold on them?”

“Your friend already managed it with her,” Neloth said, pointing at Ria. “Try it again with the others.”

So Cicero did, positioning himself next to Vilkas and preparing to Shout.

“FUS RO DAH!”

Vilkas was flung back, crashing to the ground some feet away, leaving a trail in the ash. Slowly he picked himself up and dusted himself off and for a few brief moments it looked like it might have worked. Then Vilkas growled and drew his greatsword.

“False Dragonborn!” he shouted. “You will die for your crimes!”

Aranea stopped what she was doing, lowered her tools, cast her mage armour and advanced on Cicero, hands blazing.

“The pretender must die!” she announced, red eyes glaring at Cicero.

“Dragonborn, eh?” Neloth said, raising an eyebrow at Cicero. “That's very interesting indeed. Miraak was said to be one too – no wonder they're now attacking you.”

Cicero wasn't listening. He'd gone pale, squeaked and promptly fled, kicking up a trail of ash in his wake as he sprinted north, back the way he'd come. Vilkas ran after, or at least he did until Aela tackled him, causing them both to roll over in the ash.

“The pretender must die!” Vilkas roared, struggling in Aela's grip.

“Let it go, Vilkas – ow!” Vilkas headbutted her in the face and tried to wriggle free. Aela cried out, blood pouring from her nose, but she was still a warrior and used to a bit of pain. She promptly raised her fist and punched Vilkas, knocking him out cold.

“Aela, don't!” Ria cried, looking horrified. 

“Never mind me,” Aela gasped, reaching for a cloth to catch the blood dripping on to the ash. “Just get after Cicero.” Ria looked a bit pale but nodded and ran after the jester.

Calixto meanwhile had grabbed Aranea, leg between hers to stop her moving and arms crossed over her chest so she couldn't cast.

“Lord Miraak wants him dead!” Aranea seethed at Calixto.

“Then he can perform the Sacrament like everyone else,” said Calixto firmly. “Not that the Listener is taking any contracts against him.”

Aranea didn't listen. However, she did stop fighting once Cicero was out of sight. Calixto took a deep breath and let her go. 

“I do his will,” Aranea intoned, picking her tools up and getting back to work. Calixto was about ready to cry in frustration. Aela on seeing this let Vilkas go and got up, prodding at her nose. It was already starting to swell.

“I dink its broken,” said Aela. 

“Let me have a look,” Calixto sighed, examining her. Sure enough he could sense broken bone and damaged cartilage in there. Easy enough. “This is going to hurt. I assume you can handle a bit of pain?”

“I'm a Companion,” Aela growled. “Get on with it.”

Calixto concentrated, fingers prodding flesh and bone back into place, persuading capillaries to reform and drawing excess fluid out into the nostrils, reshaping cartilage until Aela looked more or less as she had done before. She'd just about managed to not scream during the process and was now cleaning up the blood and prodding her nose tentatively.

“It's a bit tender,” she said. 

“Give it a day or two, you'll be fine,” said Calixto irritably. Honestly, here he was, a necromancer and flesh magician and what did he end up doing? On-call medical work and now not even for the Dark Brotherhood but their bone-headed friends too.

“Fascinating,” he heard Neloth say, actually sounding impressed. “I've seen flesh magic done before but not like that. Not from a human anyway. If you're ever near Tel Mithryn, drop by and see me. You could help with my research.”

Calixto strongly suspected that any assistance Neloth might require for his research would probably end up being quite painful but nodded his appreciation.

“So given Cicero's Shout just made these two worse, any alternative ideas?” Calixto asked. Neloth just shrugged.

“Find Miraak and make him stop, I'd imagine,” said Neloth casually. “I'm more interested in why a Shout freed the girl but not the other two.” He nodded at Aranea and at Vilkas, who had by this time got up, shaken himself down and returned to his work, ignoring the developing black eye.

“Exactly what I was wondering,” said Aela. “What's so special about Ria, she's just an ordinary warrior?”

“Indeed,” said Neloth, beginning to smile. “You have asked the right question at any rate – it was not the Shout, it was her. That Shout sent your friend over there flying but she just staggered. Then she woke herself up. It was a trigger for her, but it was her own will that actually roused her. And yet a seasoned warrior who is also a werewolf – don't look at me like that, woman, it's obvious when you know what to look for – and a mage priestess remain under the spell. A puzzle indeed. I shall have to do some reading.” He turned and began to walk away, deep in thought.

“Hey!” Aela shouted. “You can't just walk away, we need help here! Aren't you going to do anything to stop this??”

Neloth turned, surprised by the question. “Of course not! Why would I do that? Then I'll never know how it ends or what happens next. You're the hero type, isn't that meant to be your job?”

Aela started to growl and all in all it was a good thing it had been less than a day since her last transformation or things might have got nasty. Neloth sighed and relented.

“All right, look, if it's stopping Miraak you're interested in, you could do worse than investigate his temple. It's out in the centre of the island, to the north-east of here, built around another of these stones. If I were you, I'd find your Dragonborn friend with the hat and take a look at the place.” With that, he turned and started walking away again.

Aela growled and would have gone after him had Calixto not stopped her.

“What, let me go!” Aela snarled. “Did you hear the arrogant son of a bitch??”

“Yes, I did, and I also heard you say that relying on the beast blood instead of sleeping makes you lose yourself to it faster,” said Calixto firmly. “Let him go, Aela, he's a master Telvanni wizard who's several hundred years old if he wasn't lying about having owned the Razor once. He's not our enemy, Miraak is, and Neloth's given us a good lead in that direction. Here, take these potions and soul gems, and this as well, Cicero will want it back.”

Aela took the gear and eyed the rose-shaped staff suspiciously. “Dare I ask what this is?”

“Yet another Daedric artefact, I'm afraid. Summons a Dremora Lord to fight for you. Look, it's Cicero's, just see it gets back to him, won't you?” Calixto sighed. 

“All right, but what about you, aren't you coming?” Aela asked, a bit puzzled as to why he was sending her. Calixto shook his head.

“No. I can't – I can't leave Aranea. Not like this. If she wakes up – she won't know where we are, she'll be upset and confused, I can't – look, just get after them. Ria's young, Cicero's, well, Cicero - they need a grown adult around to keep an eye on them.”

“Understood,” said Aela, shouldering her gear and guessing Calixto wanted to be alone. He might be a cold-hearted murderer, but it was clear he loved Aranea. And he was right, someone needed to be here when they woke up. Leaving him to watch Aranea, she ran north, following Ria and Cicero's trail. Time to hunt a dragon priest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Aela hadn't gone far when the scathecraw behind her rustled. She spun round, predator's instincts telling her to be on guard, and she only relaxed a little when she saw Hjordis emerging.

“Were you following me?” Aela demanded. Hjordis just smiled.

“Of course, you're the most interesting thing to happen since my pack died,” said Hjordis, smiling. “I wasn't going to just let you wander off. A werewolf from overseas, whose pack lives in a city? Of course I was curious.” Hjordis' smile vanished as she began to growl, bearing her incisors. “And what do I find but that most of your pack aren't even werewolves! That man in black and red, the girl in that armour, the Dunmer, the idiot in the jester hat, they don't have the blood! Sure, maybe they're not all packmates per se, but you're travelling with them! That man in the armour is a wolf, yes, but the woman in the same armour isn't. What are you, Aela? Are you a true werewolf, or has living with the humans made you tame?”

“There's nothing tame about me!” Aela snapped. “I live where I want, with who I want, eat and drink what I want, and if that means spending my time with non-werewolves, so be it! I am a Companion of Jorrvaskr, Hjordis. A true Nord. I defend my Shield-Brothers and Sisters to the death and they'd do the same for me, beast blood or not! So what if they're not all werewolves? Even if I were the only werewolf left in Jorrvaskr, I'd still be one of them and will be until the day I die!”

Hjordis threw back her head and laughed bitterly. “That's no pack at all, sister. What do you do when the bloodlust comes upon you, hmm? When you want to hunt? Who roams the wilds at your side, helping you bring down your prey? A lone werewolf is no wolf at all, sister.”

Aela remembered Eola, magic arcing around Aela to weaken enemies for Aela's sword to claim, Dawnbreaker flashing in dark caves to fell foes that Aela had missed, a fellow werewolf lying in wait for the prey that Aela would flush out and chase, the two of them tearing into flesh and the guilty pleasure of finally drinking heartblood to boost her abilities, Eola coaxing her on.

“There is one who will hunt with me, and she is fierce,” Aela told her. “Fiercer than you. I'm not alone, Hjordis. And at least I'm not huddling under a rock waiting for the werebears to come finish the job. I'd take the fight to them or die trying.”

Hjordis hissed at her. “What do you think I'm trying to do??” she snapped. “Why do you think I'm following you? I was hoping you'd help, be a sister to me, fight the bears off and found a new pack, stronger than Majni's! But it turns out you're not a true wolf at all.”

“I'm a true Nord,” Aela growled, sword in her hand as the two women started to circle one another. “I fight or die trying, alone if I have to. I'm not sitting around fighting over scraps, doing nothing because some Alpha told me I wasn't allowed to provoke the foe.”

“Every pack needs an Alpha!” Hjordis cried. “How are we supposed to live otherwise?”

“Ours doesn't,” said Aela proudly. “No leader since Ysgramor. Every man, his own, every woman, her own. When Miraak's people attacked us, we fought and we won, and I didn't wait for anyone's blessing before coming after them to Solstheim. They attacked my Shield-Brother Cicero's people as well, so he came with his friends, two of whom are also Companions who volunteered to help him. But if they'd not come, I'd have come alone. Honour demanded it.”

“Honour!” laughed Hjordis. “That alone has never compelled anyone to do anything.”

“You're not a Companion. You wouldn't understand,” said Aela fiercely.

“I understand this, sister,” Hjordis replied. “You're not what I hoped you'd be. I'm disappointed.”

“Well, you're not the only one there!” Aela cried, finally losing her temper. “I came here hoping for new packmates, werewolves who truly understood what it was to bear the blood, and what do I find? Savages who sleep under rocks, are mindlessly obedient to their Alpha and don't think about anything but their next meal. You're disappointed? Well, so am I. And I have two Shield-Siblings to find and a rogue Dragonborn to kill, so if you'll excuse me, I'll be taking my leave.”

Hjordis lowered her sword, clearly still angry but knowing when a battle was lost. “Fine. Get out of here. Go back to your human friends. But when the wolf howls within you and the blood runs hot, you think what you could have had.” Sheathing her weapon, she vanished into the scathecraw and was gone.

Aela suppressed the pang of misery. She didn't even like Hjordis. The woman was scheming, ruthless, clearly angling after Majni's position as Alpha if she wasn't able to get a pack of her own, and the sad thing was Akar and Rakel would probably just fall into line after she'd killed him due to lack of any other options. Any Companion who killed a Harbinger would be hunted down and destroyed.

It didn't matter. Hjordis was none of her business. Her pack was none of Aela's business. Aela's business was hunting down Miraak and to do that she needed to catch up with Cicero and Ria. Shouldering her gear and sheathing her sword, she ran after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, starting to come together. Next chapter, Aela catches up with Cicero and Ria, and the three of them stake out Miraak's Temple. Meanwhile Calixto's stuck in Raven Rock thanks to Aranea, but in his attempts to find a way to do without sleep, he makes a couple of interesting new friends.


	10. New Friends, Old Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero, Aela and Ria hunt for the Temple of Miraak, only to find they're not the only ones investigating. Meanwhile Calixto's plans suffer a bit of a setback, but it does lead him to an unexpected ally. However, it also leads to an unexpected danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assignment done and to celebrate here is another chapter. You can tell I've been on leave all week, can't you?
> 
> You know when your hastily written off the cuff backstory for a character that doesn't have much of one in-game turns out to not only be perfectly lore-friendly, but perfect for future plot development? This.

Cicero ran and kept running until he couldn't hear shouting or screaming or magic any more, feet pounding on what might once have been sand but what was now ash, leaving an all too obvious trail, but then Vilkas was a werewolf, he'd be able to track Cicero anyway.

And then what? Well, precisely. Fight or die, he supposed. Oh but Cicero didn't want to fight Vilkas! Cicero liked Vilkas! He did! Vilkas was gruff and serious and frequently grumpy, but he'd treated poor lost unknowing Cicero like a little brother, and even now didn't treat Cicero all that badly. Kept threatening to hit Cicero but he'd not actually done it. Not until now. Cicero could probably defeat Vilkas in a straight fight, but not without risk of injury and he didn't really want to hurt Vilkas, much less kill him. He'd miss the old misery. Who else would he have to tease? Not to mention Kodlak would be very very cross with him if he hurt Vilkas.

Then there was Aranea. Sweet Night Mother, Aranea. Dear sister, very kind and patient with him, had yet to set him on fire despite everything. Until today, and if Cicero didn't want to fight Vilkas, he definitely didn't want to ever get on Aranea's bad side. And now Miraak had them both and they'd try to kill Cicero if he ever saw them again.

Cicero sank to his knees under an ash-covered pine tree, huddling in a little ball, watching the waves and a family of those things called netches drifting past. Cicero wasn't really sure what they were or how they even worked, but they were pretty. It was peaceful to watch them. Sithis knew he needed peace right now.

“Miraak's got my friends, Night Mother,” Cicero whispered. “He has one of your Speakers! I don't know what to do. Help me, Night Mother. Tell your Keeper how to find him and kill him! Please!”

No answer, but that was nothing new. Just the waves and the netches and the silence, as always. Always, always, always, until the Listener had come. But she wasn't here. Delphine was far away, back in Skyrim, and Cicero missed her with all his heart. She'd know what to do. She always knew what to do. But she wasn't here, and he was on his own, just him, the Dragonborn, and everyone expected him to be some big hero and save the day, but he had no idea how. He was just a little fool who liked killing things, didn't they know that?

“I miss you, my Listener,” Cicero whispered, sniffling. On the other hand, if she'd fallen under Miraak's spell and come at him with her sword... he didn't think he could have borne that. How Calixto could cope with seeing Aranea like that, Cicero had no idea.

“Cicero!”

“Mother?” Cicero whispered, sitting up and wiping the tears away. “Is that your voice I hear?” No, no, surely not, his mind was playing tricks again. Wasn't it?

“Cicero! Where are you? It's me! Ria!”

Hope flared in Cicero's heart. He wasn't alone. He had one friend still. Ria had found him, and that meant he'd have help, and Aela might be able to track him too, and that was good, very good. It was easier to feel heroic with Ria around. She believed in him, and she understood what it was like to have people expect too much of her. Also she was always pleased to see him and seemed to look up to him. It was really rather flattering.

“Here!” he called. “Over here!”

“Cicero, there you are!” Ria skidded to a halt and dropped down next to him, pulling him into a hug. “Are you all right? Calixto managed to stop Aranea and Aela punched Vilkas and knocked him out. They're not following you now.”

“No, but they are still enthralled, aren't they?” said Cicero softly, snuggling into Ria's arms. The armour reminded him of Delphine – only a little, but enough to comfort him.

“I think so,” said Ria, and she sounded sad too. “But we'll think of something. That Dunmer mage, Neloth, he might know a way.”

“I hope so, because I don't,” said Cicero unhappily. “Cicero is Dragonborn, Alduin-Kriid, son of the Harbinger, and yet he's helpless to stop any of it. We don't even know where Miraak is! How is Cicero supposed to kill someone he can't find?”

Ria had no answer for that and she just cuddled Cicero tighter, stroking his hair. They stayed like that for some time, watching the sea and the netches. Right up until a voice from behind startled them both.

“There you are,” said Aela calmly. “You got further than I thought. Shame you left tracks obvious for all to see though.”

“Aela!” Ria gasped and Cicero looked up, smiling to see her even if he was still a little tearful. Aela knelt on Ria's other side, unhooking the Sanguine Rose and passing it back to Cicero. 

“I believe this is yours, Shield-Brother. Calixto said you'd be wanting it back.”

“I do? I mean, yes, I do, but... where is he?” Cicero asked, worry in his eyes. Calixto might not be a Shield-Brother, but he was Cicero's Dark Brother and Cicero was fond of him.

“Still at Raven Rock. He didn't want to leave Aranea but thought you two might need a hand.” Aela looked them both over and while she did not comment on Cicero's pale frightened features and the desperation in Ria's eyes, nevertheless she noticed.

“Thank you, sister,” Cicero whispered. He'd always liked Aela. Once it had been the pretty red hair and there being someone else at Jorrvaskr who preferred light armour to heavy and taught him there was more than one way of being a warrior. Now it was just having someone around who was a match for him in archery and didn't give him away on jobs when they were sneaking up on someone. She'd have made a good Dark Sister if it weren't for the morals. All the same, she'd been consistently kind to him.

“No problem, Shield-Brother. So, have either of you devised a plan of attack yet?” Blank looks from both and Cicero starting to look rather anxious. “Clearly not. Good thing for you I've got a lead, isn't it now?”

That had their attention.

“A lead?” Ria asked. “What? Who from?”

“You know where the impostor is?” Cicero said, sitting upright and clapping with glee. Aela nodded, smiling as she watched him squeal.

“Well, not exactly. But I know where to start looking. He's got a Temple, according to Neloth. It's right in the middle of the island, built around another one of those stones. If it's anything like the Earth Stone, it should be easy enough to find. Come on, let's go.”

Cicero and Ria scrambled to their feet, following Aela as she led them away to where the cliffs parted and a path led up into the interior. Now they had a plan, things were looking that little bit brighter.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Things were not looking at all bright for Calixto. Aranea remained unresponsive, Vilkas was no better, and Calixto was exhausted. He was desperately trying to keep himself upright by this point, longing for bed and sleep, but if he lay down and closed his eyes, there was a real risk he'd end up like them, and that wouldn't help anyone. No, he needed to sort out the exhaustion another way. If he could get the right ingredients, that is, and he suspected this gods-forsaken island wouldn't have them. 

After a brief visit to Glover Mallory to return the pickaxe (only to be told he didn't need it any more and Calixto could keep it, at which point the temptation to bury the thing in the man's head was damn near irresistible) and another visit to Crescius Caerellius, who was ecstatic to see the journal and paid Calixto handsomely for his trouble, Calixto went to the docks. He didn't exactly want to leave Aranea, but he needed alchemical assistance, whether from that elf at the White Phial or better, Babette in Dawnstar. The thought of sleeping on the boat back to Skyrim was also a tempting thought. He'd been so tired he'd actually collided with that Severin man, who'd glanced at his red and black armour and raised an eyebrow but not said anything. He definitely needed sleep, and while he hated abandoning Aranea, he couldn't do anything more for her here.

He could have cried then on arriving at the jetty to find the ship gone.

“No,” he whispered. “No no no no, I need sleep dammit, sleep!!” He whirled around and accosted one of the guards.

“Where'd it go. The Northern Maiden! Where'd it go!”

“Left last night,” the guard growled. “What's it to you anyway, outlander?”

“Left???” Calixto shrieked. “What do you mean left, he had no right to do that, none at all!!”

“It's his ship, he does what he wants with it,” the guard growled. “Now let go of me, outlander, or it's the Bulwark for you.”

“Thank you, I'll handle this,” Adril Arano cut in, his voice terse. “Mr... Corrium, was it?”

“Councilor,” Calixto growled, reminding himself no good would come of assaulting the guards in what passed for daylight around here. “I don't suppose you know when Gjalund Sea-Sage is expected back in port, do you?”

“I wouldn't know,” said Adril, eyebrow raised. “I thought you might, seeing as he left on some errand your wife put him up to. She visited the Temple yesterday, had an audience with Elder Othreloth, came out, handed Gjalund a letter and a bag of gold and told him to take it back to Windhelm immediately. He left with the next tide. No idea when he'll be back, but I suppose he'll be here again once he's delivered it.”

Great. A day and a half back to Windhelm, and same again coming back – three days minimum and that's assuming Gjalund turned the boat right around, unlikely given the circumstances. Gods knew Calixto wasn't coming back here in a hurry once all this was sorted out. Damn Aranea, what was she thinking? Sending their exit off this island away and what for? Taking a letter home? It had better be important, that was all Calixto could say. 

“I don't suppose there's an alchemist in town, is there?” Calixto asked wearily. It was that or hike out to Tel Mithryn and beg Neloth for help. At least he'd be able to sleep there, although he wasn't sure he wouldn't end up being the lab rabbit in some weird experiment.

“Milore Ienth, over in the marketplace,” said Adril, frowning at him. “Sera, I have to ask, are you well? You look like you've not slept.”

“I haven't,” Calixto sighed. “It's... never mind. I just need to speak to this alchemist, that's all. Thank you, you've been very helpful.”

Adril watched Calixto run off towards the market, shaking his head. Only here a day and already causing a stir. He'd just had Crescius Caerellius run up to him in sheer delight, telling him he was going to re-open the mine now he'd found out why it had really been sealed off. Adril wasn't going to get his hopes up, but having ebony available for export again would change Raven Rock's fortunes overnight. If this clearly quite mad outlander and his friends had had something to do with it, Adril would forgive them their little eccentricities. In fact, Adril wondered if they might just be able to help out in other ways too. He'd need to talk to Captain Veleth, but assuming this outlander wasn't a complete lunatic, he might just come in useful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Milore looked up as a shadow loomed over her. 

“I told you before, Mogrul, I'll get you your money, I'll have it by the end of the week,” Milore began, right up until she realised it wasn't Mogrul. It was that Imperial who'd been here yesterday asking about the town, what she and Garyn did for a living, and about... she couldn't remember what else he'd asked, him and his brother with the strange hat and bright red hair and wide smile, but she had a feeling it had been important.

“Oh, hello again, sera,” she said politely. “What can I interest you in today?” Something about him was unsettling her – he'd looked a little odd yesterday, something in his eyes although he'd been perfectly polite. Today he looked terrible – needing a shave, eyes puffy, suppressing a yawn and looking on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

“Medafine's Elixir,” he said without preamble. “Do you have any? Or could you make any? Or sell me the ingredients and I'll make some. I'll pay you, obviously.”

Medafine's Elixir? A sleeplessness draught that meant you could stay up for days on end and not get tired, beloved of party animals, shamen and wise women, priests, scholars, students and night workers everywhere, but dangerous to use long-term. 

“Sera, I don't think that's a good idea, it looks like you've been up late enough already,” said Milore. “Why do you need it?”

“Don't argue with me, just tell me if you can make it or not!” he shouted, causing a few guards to start looking and Garyn to put his shovel down and make his way over.

“Milore, is he giving you a hard time?” Garyn asked, glaring at the stranger, who backed off and apologised.

“I'm very sorry, sir, ma'am, but it is really important that I lay my hands on some right away,” he said apologetically. “I need to stay awake. My wife needs me and if I fall asleep, I'll end up in the same state she is and that's no good at all. I know this sounds completely insane, but if you're able to get me some Elixir, I will pay you handsomely for your trouble. I'll even explain, but not out here, not in the street. Wouldn't want to alarm anyone.”

“Bit late for that,” Garyn growled, fingering his dagger. Milore waved for him to be quiet. The poor man did sound quite desperate, and if he needed to stay awake to care for his sick wife... but maybe there was another way.

“What's wrong with your wife?” Milore asked sympathetically. “Maybe I could make her something to ease her symptoms so you could rest?”

The strange outlander just laughed. “I think Aranea's problems are a little beyond a town alchemist's skills but thank you anyway. No, just some Medafine's Elixir and I'll be on my way.”

“Aranea?” Now that was a name Milore hadn't heard in a long time, although there were plenty of Araneas in Morrowind, Milore supposed. “Your wife's a Dunmer then?”

“Yes,” the man nodded, actually smiling. “It was her idea to come here in the first place, she wanted to pray to Azura. No shrines to her in Windhelm, you see, just the little one in our bedroom. And the big one in Winterhold, but it's six hours away and frankly she's seen enough of the place in my view.”

Milore nearly dropped the pestle she was holding in shock. “I – I'm sorry, did you say she was an Azura worshipper?”

“Priestess actually, why – by the Eight. Milore Ienth. Aranea Ienith. Are you...?”

Milore nodded, tears in her eyes. “Tribunal preserve us, yes, she's my oldest sister,” she whispered. “I haven't seen her in – I was only twenty when she had to leave, I never knew what happened to her, not until I saw her again after the Red Year at the Shrine of Azura, but she was so different then, like she wasn't on the same plane as the rest of us. She got married?? When? And what's she doing in Morrowind, doesn't she know – never mind. Garyn, watch the store for me will you, I need to talk to – what did you say your name was?”

“Calixto,” he finally introduced himself. “Calixto Corrium of Windhelm. It's a pleasure to meet you. Aranea never mentioned any sisters.”

Not a surprise. Aranea – well, Aranea hadn't been part of the family for a long time. She'd come of age at fifty, joined the Morag Tong as expected, spent a decade as a reasonably competent dispenser of justice, specialising in Destruction magic, and then she'd thrown aside worship of Mephala-Vivec to follow Azura as her priestess. Not even as Sotha Sil's Anticipation, but as Azura the goddess in her own right. She'd gone on the run ever since. The Ieniths had changed their name to Ienth to dissociate themselves from her, applied for a writ of assassination on their wayward heretic daughter in order to prevent the Ministry of Truth from coming after the rest of the family, and due to Aranea's disavowal of the Tribunal, there was little hesitation in it being granted. Milore had been just a girl, and she'd missed her sister horribly. Aranea had been a bit distant, travelled a lot for her work, but she'd always come home eventually and been kind to her littlest sister, certainly a lot kinder than their middle sister Nilara ever was. The writ had broken Milore's heart, but she'd taken hope from the fact that Aranea had simply just vanished. It was only after the Red Year, which she'd just managed to avoid by leaving for Skyrim after an anonymous letter had appeared in her bedchamber one night advising her to flee, that she'd seen Aranea again. She'd gone to pray at the newly-built Shrine of Azura in Winterhold, offering a prayer for her sister's memory and been astonished to find said sister alive and well and leading the rituals and... changed. Nothing mattered except Azura, nothing was important except the damn visions, and while she'd been pleased to see Milore again, Milore had realised she wasn't really important. Not any more. Azura had claimed everything. She'd left and decided Aranea was welcome to her visions. Now she was apparently here and married?? To an outlander who'd just sworn by the Eight and probably didn't worship Azura? How in the world had that happened??

“She always was a private person,” said Milore, leading him inside. “Quiet, you know? Preferred books to people.”

“She's not changed much,” Calixto laughed. “But then again, I only met her last year, what would I know?”

Married less than a year. It must have been one daedra of a whirlwind courtship, that was all Milore could think. But first his potion. Moon sugar, torchbug thorax, luna moth wing, a little fly amanita – not hard to make, just needed a bit of skill and patience. Soon it was ready and she passed him a vial of the Elixir. He'd not sat down at all, just paced up and down her hallway, desperately trying to keep his eyes open. He took one look at the mixture and knocked it back, grimacing at the taste.

“Thank you,” he said wearily. “May I sit down now?”

“Of course,” said Milore, taking a seat at the small table opposite him. “Calixto Corrium. You didn't take her name then.”

“Should I?” Calixto asked, a little puzzled. “I don't really know how Dunmeri marriage customs work...”

“Oh, it's optional, and to be honest, it depends entirely on who marries who. Generally, the lower status partner takes the name of the other, like Garyn did with me. He's a farmer from a humble family, I was an alchemist from the wealthy Ienths of Mournhold, he said it'd feel wrong if he didn't. But Aphia and Crescius both kept their own names – he's an outlander but a well-respected man in this town, descended from the original colonists, she's a priestess but out of favour with the Temple. I think neither of them could work out who was higher status so they just left it. I'm guessing you and she are in a similar situation.”

“You could say that,” Calixto said, looking thoughtful. “She's higher ranked than me, but on the other hand, I'm a wealthy man of business, so it evens out.”

“Sounds fair enough,” said Milore, moving on to the question she really wanted answering. “So tell me, Calixto. How did you manage to persuade my sister to finally leave that Shrine of hers?”

“I didn't, Azura told her to go and stopped sending her visions,” said Calixto, resting his head on the table. “My brother and his friend were visiting at the time, took pity on her and invited her to join them, and then she visited Windhelm which is where she met me. My sister died a few years before, I'd been living there ever since, mourning her. When I met Aranea... well, it's a long story but I helped her with her business in the city, she helped me with a project I'd been working on, and while my own project was a spectacular failure, Aranea took pity on me and invited me to join her. We became friends... more than friends. Now we're here, and... she's in trouble.”

Mysterious, and Milore could tell he was leaving an awful lot out. Still, Aranea had always liked her secrets. That it had been Azura forcing her to leave in the end was no surprise – Milore didn't think the starry-eyed fanatic she'd last seen would have ever gone for any other reason. Still, she'd gone at least – and married! Milore had a lot to talk with her about. She just hoped Aranea was all right, Calixto seemed frantic with worry.

“What's the problem? Are you sure it's something I can't help with?”

“No, in fact you might be affected too,” said Calixto, barely lifting his head up while he waited for the Elixir to take effect. “This island's in trouble. There's someone controlling the entire population so that they do his bidding, and he does it while they sleep, I'm guessing it's easier then as people have fewer boundaries up. Normally he lets them go when the sun comes up, but he's kept Aranea and one of our other friends as his thralls. That's why I can't sleep either, I don't want to end up like that myself. Last thing Cicero needs is three of us under Miraak's sway.”

Miraak, Miraak, Milore knew that name but... it was gone. Some fear ran down her spine and Milore decided she didn't want to know any more. 

“Where is she? And what are you going to do?” she asked. “Can I... see her?”

“Whole town can see her, she's up at the Earth Stone building some shrine for him,” said Calixto bitterly, finally sitting up. “There's not a lot anyone can do, except watch over her, make sure she's all right. My brother's looking into it. He – he's a little bit odd, well all right, very odd, but he knows how to get the job done. He'll make sure Miraak knows who's boss.”

That name again. She wished he'd stop saying it. She shook her head, going over what he'd just told her. Aranea enthralled somehow and forced to work up at the Earth Stone, oblivious to anything else, heedless of any danger... by the Reclamations.

“You have to go to her,” said Milore softly. “Did she ever tell you anything about her past, about her time in Morrowind?”

Calixto hesitated for the briefest of instants, and Milore knew then that not only did he know, he probably knew more than she did.

“She said her family disowned her after she saw the light and abandoned Tribunal worship for that of Azura,” said Calixto carefully. “And that she was on the run for a long time before Azura warned her about the Red Year and told her to get out of Morrowind.”

“Did she tell you about the price on her head?” Milore asked. “Our parents took out a writ with the Morag Tong! They were the ones hunting her! The writ's still in force, you know! That's why I can't believe she came back here, the Tong don't operate outside Morrowind so she was safe in Skyrim. But if they find out she's here...!”

Calixto stared at her then burst out laughing. “You can't be serious, that writ's two hundred years old at least, the Tribunal don't even exist any more! Azura worship's not just legal, it's the state religion, or part of it. They can't possibly still be pursuing it.”

“Two hundred years is nothing to a Dunmer, outlander!” Milore snapped back. “You should just be lucky there's no Tong agents in Raven Rock, the fact that the writ's an old one and the ones who took it out are dead won't matter to the Tong. It's a writ in good standing and probably never overturned as I know my sister Nilara still regards Aranea as a backstabbing traitor! The Tong don't stop, Calixto. The fact she never got caught will just make them more determined.”

Calixto had gone very quiet, his own eyes growing cold and just as determined.

“They will find they have taken on more than they bargained for should any of them try to hurt my Aranea,” said Calixto softly. “Our business here is Miraak, but if the Morag Tong show their faces... well, my brother and I can afford to take a little time away from that if Aranea's safety is at stake.”

Well wasn't that romantic. Milore couldn't fault the sentiment, but this was the Morag Tong! The legendary assassin's guild in service to Mephala. Capable of descending from the shadows and claiming the life of anyone who crossed them before they even knew they were there. Frankly, he sounded far too confident.

“You should take this a bit more seriously, this is your wife's life at stake!” Milore snapped. “The Morag Tong are patient, stealthy and incredibly dangerous! We're not talking two-bit mercenaries here!”

“Good thing I'm not one then,” Calixto replied, starting to smile. “Milore, I am taking this seriously, I promise you, and I thank you for the warning. It's easy for a mere human to forget that what's ancient history to us is a living memory for one of you. I promise I'll watch over her. Just take care and keeping making that Elixir. I should take my leave, if there really are assassins about, I should be keeping watch. Thank you. Here, gold, as promised.”

It was a considerable sum, more than the Elixir really warranted, but it would certainly be welcome, not to mention finally being able to pay off Mogrul.

“You've overpaid me, sera Calixto,” she whispered. Calixto just shrugged.

“I'm not a poor man, Milore, and you're family, it would appear. We look after our own, and you've been extremely helpful.”

Milore stared at the gold as Calixto got up to leave. As he reached the stairs, she called out to him.

“Wait!”

“What is it?” he asked, turning to face her, curious.

“You're staying at the Netch, yes?”

“Where else would I be staying, there's no other inn in town,” said Calixto, surprised.

Garyn would probably not approve, but the man was her brother-in-law after all. 

“We've got a spare room, why don't you stay here?” she asked. “It'll save you a bit of coin, especially as you won't actually be needing a bed for the next two days.”

Calixto's eyes widened, then he actually smiled.

“That's very kind of you. If you're sure you don't mind? What about your husband?”

“I'll worry about Garyn, you worry about Aranea,” Milore told him. “Here, take my key and go get your things moved in. Make yourself at home.”

Calixto nodded, took the key and left. Milore sat down, trying to process all this. Her sister, here, and in trouble. Well, she'd been in trouble all her life, that was no surprise. But to know Azura had loosened her grip enough for her to get married... that was new. That was different. Assuming the Tong didn't get here first, or this... this man behind Aranea's troubles didn't make them worse... this was more than Milore could ever have hoped for. To have her sister back at last, at long last! She just hoped Calixto could keep his word and protect her. He looked like a trader, not a warrior, and it would take more than an ordinary warrior to keep the Morag Tong at bay. It'd take a master assassin or a hero out of legend to do that. Too bad there weren't any of those on the island.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Ria was still getting used to how small Solstheim was. Only half an hour or so from the beach and already the landscape had changed from ash-covered forest to snow-covered mountain foothill. So different to Skyrim, where the landscape tended to fade a little more gradually into its different types.

Some things though never changed.

“SNOW!” Cicero shrieked, leaping off the rock precipice the path had led them up, landing nimbly on the snow below. “Look, my Shield-Sisters, snow!”

“Yes, Cicero, I'm a Nord, I've seen snow before!” Aela called back, laughing. Cicero poked his tongue out, bent down, patted at the snow, then hurled a snowball right at Aela's face. Only her quick reflexes saved her from eating the stuff.

“Oh, so that's how it is, is it? Come here, milk-drinker!” Aela shouted, leaping down herself, making her own snowball and throwing it back at the laughing jester, who skipped out of the way, shrieking with delight as he did so. Ria looked down at the steep drop, hoping her armour would cushion the blow. It didn't.

“Ow!” she cried, landing gracelessly on the snow, wincing and reaching for a healing potion. She wasn't injured, not exactly, but that was going to leave bruises. And there were Aela and Cicero, completely undamaged by the exact same jump, now cavorting like children, Cicero giggling constantly as he dodged and weaved, trying to avoid the snowballs Aela was sending his way. Aela grinned and aimed one squarely at his backside, which did actually hit the target, making Cicero squeal even louder.

“Oooh! Aela! That tickled!”

Aela threw back her head, laughing. “Shield-Brother, don't tell me you didn't let that one hit you on purpose.”

More giggling. “What, me? Humble Cicero letting Aela hit him on purpose? Certainly not! Cicero requires flowers and dinner bought for him before that happens.”

Dear gods. Ria wished Vilkas were here. She could guarantee he'd never have let things get to this stage. 

“So this Temple then,” she said, raising her voice. “Are you two children coming with me or am I going alone?”

“What and miss out on the fun?” Aela asked, brushing snow off her armour, and how a woman could wear armour that revealing and never either get cold or acquire any scars or serious injuries despite a good fifteen years as a Companion was beyond unfair in Ria's mind. 

“Fun!” Cicero squealed, dancing on the spot. “Stabbing and killing and mayhem and fun!”

Kynareth help her. She had a whole temple full of this to look forward to.

“Aela, you said it was north-east of Raven Rock. Reckon it's much further?” Please say no, please say no, please say no...

Aela scanned the horizon to the north-east, and then they all saw it. What looked like a set of Nordic ruins sitting just out of sight over the hill.

“That might be it,” said Aela. Cicero had gone quiet, a strange half-smile on his face. 

“Then let us find him, this false Dovahkiin. Let us treat his Temple as he did the Night Mother's!”

“Night Mother?” Aela whispered to Ria.

“Best not to ask,” said Ria. It was one of the few things that Cicero absolutely refused to talk about, but Ria had worked out she must be some sort of goddess the Brotherhood worshipped, because it clearly wasn't Delphine's title, and Delphine appeared to be the one in charge. Maybe it was a title for one of the Daedra. Wouldn't surprise her.

The first thing they saw as they approached were the bones, a huge skeleton lying half-buried in the snow. A dragon's skeleton.

“Mallory said there were dragon skeletons in the interior,” said Cicero softly. “This must be what he meant. Odahviing said many had died fighting Miraak. Poor thing.”

Further up there was another dead dragon and then steps leading up to the actual ruins. Scaffolding and hammering, and near one pillar a Dunmer reaver chanting “By night we reclaim”.

“What by day was stolen,” another reaver responded as she walked past, pile of wood in her hands. 

“This would be the place then,” said Aela, hand to her sword as she headed up the steps. Ria shivered as she followed. To think that last night, she'd been one of these mind-controlled thralls herself, until Cicero woke her up. He was following after her, unusually subdued, and whether it was tiredness or the thralls themselves having that effect, it was a bit unnerving.

There didn't seem to be an entrance to the great bowl-shaped Temple, but there were some wooden stairs leading to the edge. Aela peered over and nodded grimly, pointing at the huge monolith in the centre. 

“There. Like the other stone. This is it.”

Ria looked over the Temple itself. Tiered seats or steps like a theatre, all rising around the central plateau with the Stone, and chanting thralls all hard at work – a mix of Dunmer in light leather bandit armour, and Nords in some thick hooded fur outfits that Ria had never seen before. Not a lot to go on in the way of clues though. Except...

One voice rose above the others, different to the dull monotone of the thralls.

“Please, you have to leave this place! Please, go home, back to the Village, please!”

Not a thrall. Aela had heard it too, and Cicero, ever the perceptive one, was already running over to where a blonde Nord woman in fur-lined armour with a very sharp axe at her belt was pleading with one of her kin.

“Are you listening to me at all? Can't you hear me? All-Maker, how is he doing this??”

“Hello!” Cicero giggled, skipping over. “You're not cursed! What are you doing here?”

The woman looked up, reaching for her axe at the sight of a grinning, bouncing, wide-eyed lunatic staring at her.

“Nor are you - are you?” she replied, looking none too certain about whether Cicero was a thrall or not. She only relaxed slightly when Ria and Aela arrived.

“No, no, Cicero isn't cursed!” Cicero giggled. “Cicero was just wondering why the nice hunter lady would want to be here surrounded by these. They're not very good company.”

“They're my people,” the woman said, still looking rather hostile. “And I'm here to either save them or avenge them. What are you doing here?” She looked the armour over, eyes drawn to the pointy boots and the hat. “What are you??”

“A friend,” said Aela before Cicero could say anything else. “We're friends. We're trying to find out what's causing this and how to stop it.”

“Then you and I have the same goal,” the woman said, relaxing and putting the axe away. “I am Frea of the Skaal. You are not from Solstheim, are you?”

“Oh no, Cicero is from many places!” Cicero said cheerfully. “Most of them considerably warmer,” he admitted, smile fading as he shivered in the early morning sun.

“We're from Skyrim,” said Aela. “This is Ria and that's Cicero. Don't let him alarm you, he's – he's a little odd but a fierce warrior nonetheless.”

“Skyrim,” Frea repeated. “The land over the sea, home to our estranged brothers and sisters. I never thought any from there would care what happened in Solstheim.”

“We don't – er, we wouldn't,” said Cicero hastily. “But nasty Miraak sent his vile cultists to our homes and attacked poor Cicero's friends! Looking to kill poor blameless Cicero! So we came here, and now two of our friends are stuck working on the Earth Stone and we need to find Miraak and kill him to free them.”

“My entire village is trapped too – well, most of it,” said Frea, nodding in sympathy. “Half the island is trapped, forced to work on these horrible shrines, desecrating the All-Maker Stones and disrupting the oneness of the land. My father is the shaman, Storn Crag-Strider – he's protecting what few remain free at the Skaal Village. He said it was Miraak trying to return. I did not think that was possible, all the stories said he'd been destroyed many years ago. But if you say it is so too...”

“So how come you're not under the spell?” Ria asked. Frea tapped her fingers against her neck.

“I fashioned myself an amulet to protect myself once I left the Village,” Frea explained. “I had to find out what was happening, see if the other Stones were affected or just the Wind Stone near our Village. Clearly it's happening all over the island, and this Temple is clearly the centre. I just need to find a way inside...”

It was at that moment the ground shook and the sound of stone on stone announced the opening of a secret passage somewhere nearby. Cicero turned to his left, drawing Dawnbreaker and the ebony sword he'd picked up in Bloodskal Barrow. Aela reached for her bow and Ria reached for her ebony shield and the Blades katana Delphine had given her.

Part of the floor had slid back to reveal a ramp spiralling down – and out of it came two masked cultists.

“What is this?” the first cried. “Minds not yoked to Miraak's will?”

“Kill them!” the one behind him shouted. “Kill them all.”

Frea drew her axe and cast mage armour, surprising everyone. “All-Maker protect me!” she cried, springing into battle. That was the signal for everyone else to get in on the action, Ria chasing after Frea screaming “FOR JORRVASKR!” and Cicero sheathing his swords and reaching for his bow instead, he and Aela sending their arrows into the cultists. Minutes later, the cultists were lying dead in a pool of their own blood. 

“Dead!” Cicero cooed as he retrieved the arrows, passing half of them back to Aela. “All dead!”

“And the world is better for it,” said Frea vehemently. “All right, I'm going to see where this goes. Somewhere in this Temple is the source of Miraak's power.” She paused, glancing at her shoulder at them. “You're coming too, I trust?”

“That's why we're here,” said Aela, having no intention of walking away now she'd got this far.

“Try stopping us!” said Ria cheerfully, fired up and ready to go. “Honour demands it!”

“Let's kill someone!” Cicero cried, still doing his victory dance. He stopped on noticing all three were staring at him with varying expressions ranging from pained (Aela) to vaguely disturbed (Ria) to outright horror (Frea).

“Is he... always like this?” said Frea, unsure whether she should be accepting his friendship or killing him on the spot for the good of everyone.

“We just point him at the foe and let him get on with it,” said Aela, steering Cicero towards the Temple entrance.

“In that case,” said Frea, falling in behind her, “he gets to lead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medafine's Elixir is of course named after the drug modafinil which does much the same thing. Next chapter, Cicero and company investigate the Temple of Miraak, and the source of Miraak's power leads to a meeting between the two Dragonborns neither will ever forget.


	11. The Temple of Miraak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero, Aela, Frea and Ria explore Miraak's Temple, and Ria's feeling a bit surplus to requirements... but that's nothing to how Cicero feels when he finally lays eyes on their quarry and realises he's taken on more than they bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long hiatus, I got inadvertently bunnied by another SKM prompt. You know how it is.
> 
> Anyway, here is a chapter, and to make up for the delay, there is pr0n. Filthy pr0n. Depraved, tentacled, dubcon, Cicero/Miraak pr0n.
> 
> There is also a Doctor Who reference in here - you'll know it when you see it.

Ria wasn't sure what she hated most about the place. Was it the cultists throwing magic at her? Draugr that seemed fiercer and fouler-tempered than their Skyrim counterparts? Or was it the traps, that Cicero and Aela seemed to skip right over and even Frea seemed to avoid, but that she always walked straight into?

As the Deathlord swung its ebony war axe at her and the spiked gate kept smacking into her, spikes penetrating through even Akaviri steel, she decided it really didn't matter. She hated this place and that was enough. 

Aela's arrow smacked into its chest, sending it staggering and giving Ria some much needed respite, then the gate hit her again and she fell back, bleeding.

“Cicero,” she gasped, not sure why she was crying out for him, but he was the Dragonborn and fierce and nothing stopped him. “Cicero, help...”

“FUS RO DAH!” Unrelenting Force smacked the Draugr far away, sending them flying down the corridor, and then Cicero was there, grabbing her by the arm and hauling her away, one of his hands sending Restoration magic into her, sealing wounds and easing the pain.

“Come, come, Ria cannot fight Draugr there,” Cicero was saying, his voice soothing in its cadence despite the singsong lilt of utter madness that never really left it. “Sweet Ria should not stay where the nasty trap gate will hit her. She does not have the healing gifts Frea does.”

Frea was already chasing down the nearest Draugr, healing magic flaring as her own wounds closed, ready to rejoin the fight. Aela was letting loose with her bow, skilfully avoiding the pressure plate as she hit the target every time. Ria meanwhile was clinging on to Cicero, wincing in pain, worn out, wanting to go home and wishing she'd never come. Cicero didn't need her. No one needed her. She was just a twenty one year old kid, out of her depth and with no special powers or magic or mighty warrior skills. She should have stayed at Jorrvaskr and stuck with hunting bears.

“Are you better, sweet child?” Cicero asked gently, patting her shoulder. Ria nodded, accepting the offer of a healing potion and stamina potion. 

“I think so,” said Ria, gasping for breath. “Thank you.”

“It is no trouble,” said Cicero, rubbing her back. “Ria... if you wished to go back to Raven Rock, Cicero would think no less of you. Aela and Frea and Cicero can do this, we are not unskilled, and Calixto might welcome help watching over our friends.”

“I'm _not_ going back,” Ria growled, reaching for her katana. She could only imagine how Aela and Vilkas would react to hearing she'd walked away from the fight. No, she was a Companion of Ysgramor now, and Companions did not back down just because a thing was hard. “FOR THE GLORY OF YSGRAMOR!!” 

Cicero watched, grinning as Ria charged back into action. Companions. So easy to manipulate, you didn't even need a Courage spell. Just imply that perhaps they should walk away from a fight and they'd all charge straight into the thick of it. Of course he didn't want to see Ria hurt, no. But he didn't like seeing her so unsure of herself either. That and Vilkas would never stop harassing her unless he finally got it into his skull Ria could take care of herself, and he'd never believe it until she did. Which she would never manage until she actually won some fights that challenged her. 

Judging from the way she'd just charged into that Draugr, this wasn't going to be one of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

After the Draugr and trap door combination had come the long corridor with the axe trap, circumvented when Cicero told everyone to wait, shrieked “FEIM ZII!” and skipped blithely through without a care in the world, finding the lever and shutting the whole thing down so the three women could walk through. 

“How... how did he do that?” Frea whispered as Cicero solidified again, skipping about as if everyone could do that.

“He's special,” was all Aela felt like saying right then, and Ria didn't fancy explaining the whole Dragonborn thing either. So they ventured on instead, for what seemed like miles and miles of corridors and traps and secret passages, with Draugr harassing them all the way. The monotony was broken by a Word Wall, which had Cicero squealing and cooing over it and excitedly babbling to Ria about it being the second word of some Shout called Dragon Aspect. To Aela's surprise, Ria seemed enthralled too, which was a little weird – sure, it looked a bit different to the Word Walls Aela had come across, being white stone not grey and the letters carved in red, but surely that alone wouldn't merit such enthusiasm, not from Ria anyway. Then she had no time to think about it when the coffins on the other side of the room fell open and the Draugr attacked.

Ten minutes of pitched battle followed, before the last of the Draugr finally keeled over and died, exploding from Dawnbreaker's touch as it did so. The toughest of them had a key on it, proving to unlock the door behind its coffin.

It proved to lead to an empty dining room and kitchen area.

“We fought all that lot for this?” Ria asked, disbelieving.

“No one builds all those protections in just to hide the kitchens, there must be a door somewhere,” said Frea, already poking around. Cicero just giggled.

“Leave it to Cicero. There is sure to be a lever or a button somewhere!”

Sure enough, he found one and a hidden entrance opened up. More passageways, and more of those weird statues that looked like some sort of sea creature, except uglier and more threatening than most sea beasts.

“I don't like these statues, and there seems to be more of them as we get further in,” said Frea, shuddering. “Almost feels like they're about to come to life.”

Ria really wished Frea hadn't said that, and edged closer to Cicero for comfort. 

“Don't say that, why did you say that?” she whispered. Cicero just petted her arm.

“Don't worry, sweet Ria, statues do not just come to life. Moving statues are not real, are they, Aela?”

“Well, I've heard a few stories,” said Aela thoughtfully. “But never come across anything in person though. The only stories I've heard of stone things that come to life are gargoyles and the Aedra That Weep, and these don't look anything like those.”

“Ooh, Cicero has heard of the Aedra That Weep!” Cicero squealed. “They can move as fast as an eye can blink, but only when they are _not being watched!_ So you are all right as long as you don't blink!”

Ria whimpered and clung on to Cicero, eyes wide and not taking her eyes off the statue.

“Cicero,” said Aela firmly, glaring at him. “The Aedra That Weep are _not real_. Stop frightening Ria.”

“People would say that, the Aedra That Weep are better at not being noticed than Cicero is!” Cicero giggled. Ria stifled a scream, and Aela finally lost her temper and smacked Cicero hard on the backside. Cicero yelped and glared at Aela.

“Cicero did not consent to that!” he snapped. 

“Stop scaring your sister and I won't have to touch you!” Aela shouted back. “There's likely to be enough genuinely dangerous things in here without telling stories of things that don't even exist!”

Cicero kept right on glaring, eyes narrowed, but at length he nodded curtly and backed down.

“Cicero shall be quiet,” he purred. “If Aela does not hit him again.”

“Act as your wife and your father would wish and I shouldn't need to,” Aela returned, her own posture relaxing. Cicero nodded and moved on, and after a second or two, Aela followed. Next to Ria, Frea edged over to her.

“Is it always like this with you?” she whispered.

“Kind of,” Ria said, thinking of all the times Cicero had squabbled with Shield-Siblings in Jorrvaskr – but Kodlak had always been there to arbitrate, and Cicero had always respected Kodlak's authority, always. But Kodlak wasn't here, and Delphine wasn't here, and nor was Eola or Aranea, or Madanach the Reach-King or anyone Cicero might actually respect or owe allegiance to, in fact it slowly dawned on Ria the person here who Cicero was closest to out of all of them was her. And she had no idea how to calm down, reassure or mollify a Cicero at the edge of his emotional reserves. Cicero was a very dangerous man who could carve someone into pieces before they even knew he'd moved, and he had the Thu'um besides, and it was now twenty four hours since he'd last slept. She'd got no idea when he'd last eaten. He must be nearing the end of his endurance, and with it his ability to rein in his temper. He wasn't terribly stable at the best of times and this was not the best of times. If Cicero lost it, she was the only one with any sort of ability to stop him and she had no idea how. It was a frightening situation. Which is why she kept it to herself.

“He can be a bit of a handful, but he usually means well,” Ria lied. “He's just a little cranky and on edge. A few hours sleep should sort him out.”

Frea nodded, still looking warily at Cicero, and Ria honestly couldn't blame her. Normally she'd consider him a dear friend who'd never harm her, and at heart she still did. But right now, he worried her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

At last they came to a large chamber comprising steps leading upwards. Steps... and a number of tripwires. 

“What now?” Frea whispered. “Those look like traps.”

A harsh rattle came from the top of the slope, the all-too familiar cry of the Draugr. 

“Do you think,” Aela murmured, “the Draugr might be lured in to said traps? We know they're not very bright.”

Cicero grinned and raised his bow. One arrow to grab their attention, killing a skeleton archer in the process. Then the Sanguine Rose to really make things interesting. 

“THERE YOU ARE, WEAKLING!” The summoned Dremora tore up the steps, breaking all the tripwires and causing boulders to come crashing down, taking out the remaining skeletons and the weaker Draugr, and causing the stronger ones to stagger. The rocks kept on coming, until finally they'd all come to a halt and one lone Deathlord staggered out, near the end of its strength. One arrow from Aela finished it. 

“Is that it?” Ria whispered in the silence. “Are we done?”

“Looks like it,” said Aela, getting up from where they'd all been crouching. “Let's see what this lot were guarding.”

“This somehow seems like a bit of an anticlimax,” said Frea, frowning as she nudged the Deathlord with her toe. “But still, I thank all three of you. I do not think I would have made it this far on my own.”

“It is no trouble, no trouble at all!” Cicero giggled, dancing on the spot. “Cicero does this sort of thing all the time, isn't that right, Ria?”

“It's true, delving into dangerous Nordic ruins is a hobby of his,” Ria added as Cicero skipped off after Aela. “He collects words off the Word Walls.”

“Off the... like he did here,” said Frea, eyes widening in understanding. “But no one can even read that tongue, it's the tongue of dragons, so my father tells me. It can be learnt by humans, but no one's got the secret any more, except a few scholars and... by the All-Maker. Is he...?”

“Yeah,” said Ria, finding herself smiling up at Cicero's retreating back. “Yeah, he's a Dragonborn. Like Miraak. And he's going to kill that bastard Miraak and mount his head on his wall. Count on it, Frea.”

“Maybe that's what I'm afraid of,” Frea said quietly, not looking reassured. Ria didn't entirely blame her. Maybe Cicero was Dragonborn but morally speaking, he wasn't much better than Miraak. However, Ria could at least be thankful that Cicero was easily amused and not terribly ambitious. Maybe the area of the tundra near Rorikstead was getting known for the odd traveller disappearing, and for the mutilated remains of bandits and Skooma dealers and Thalmor patrols to keep being found dumped in the wilderness, but at least he'd never likely start trying to take over the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was loot to be had at the very top of the room, and a passageway leading inwards, the architecture strange and not like the usual Nordic style. The strange tunnel led deeper, until it finally ended in a dark room with more of those creepy fish-monster statues... and a thick black book on a pedestal.

“I think this is it,” said Aela quietly. “Whatever Miraak's doing, it's to do with that book, I know it.”

“Not sure I want to be the one to read it,” said Ria dubiously. “Looks evil.”

“It is,” said Frea, reaching for her axe. “But if it is the source of Miraak's power, it was never going to be anything but. We should take it to my father – wait!” Cicero had taken one look at the book, whimpered and turned to flee back down the corridor. Ria glanced at Aela, saw her nod, and then both women had moved to intercept the little fool before he could disappear on them.

“Where do you think you're going?” Aela demanded, grabbing an arm and hauling him back, Ria securing his other arm. “Companions don't just turn and run when things get dangerous!”

“Cicero isn't a Companion, well all right he is, but it was an accident!” Cicero wailed. “A technicality! He didn't mean to! He only comes back now so Kodlak doesn't get lonely! Cicero serves the Night Mother! And Cicero needs to go home, Listener needs him, Eola Tinvaaki needs him, Mother needs him, Cicero can't do this, please please, let poor Cicero go!” His eyes were wide, skin pale and waxy, real terror in his eyes and that scared Ria, that terrified Ria in fact, because Cicero wasn't afraid of anything. Cicero was the thing that terrified other people. Cicero wasn't meant to be running scared from the evil corners of the world – he was one of the world's evil corners. 

“Cicero, stop it, this isn't like you, tell me what's wrong!” Ria cried. She turned and looked back at the book again – that had been the trigger, that had sent Cicero running, and while the thing looked pure evil, she didn't think an aura of pure evil alone would have frightened Cicero off. “Cicero, what is it? Is it that book? Have you seen it before? Or one like it?”

Cicero struggled in their arms, seeming to get even more panicked.

“Cicero doesn't want to! Cicero isn't going back!” he wailed. “Cicero was hurt and Cicero was scared and Cicero doesn't want to go there again!”

“Go where?” Aela demanded. “Dammit man, will you just tell me what's going on? Ria, can you talk some sense into him?”

“Dragonborn,” and that was Frea, coming to stand behind him, a hand on his shoulder and some Illusion spell trickling out of her fingers. “My village is in trouble. Miraak's enslaving my people, and it won't stop with Solstheim. If you are truly of the dragon blood, you are the only one strong enough to stop this. Please, Cicero. If you know anything about that book, anything at all, please tell us. We need to know what it is to have any hope of stopping Miraak.”

Cicero had stopped struggling under the Calm spell's influence, but he still looked petrified. 

“It is a Black Book of Hermaeus Mora,” Cicero whispered. Frea let him go, horrified. 

“Aie! Herma Mora? Then it is worse than I thought. And yet not surprising. But... how did you know?”

“Yes, Cicero, how did you know?” Aela asked, letting him go and moving to stand in the doorway to block any further attempt to flee. “You don't strike me as the scholarly type, and the Brotherhood don't serve Mora.”

“We found one,” Cicero whispered, looking utterly defeated and wretched. “Calixto and Cicero, we were exploring the mine in Raven Rock and there was one down there. Calixto is a scholar and a mage, he recognised it and told poor Cicero what it was. So... so we read it and we ended up in Mora's realm in Oblivion, Apocrypha! We were lost and we didn't know how to get back, we had to explore until we found the book to take us back! And... and there were monsters, strong monsters, stronger than poor Cicero and he nearly died, but Calixto saved him and got him home. And Mora was there and he knew Cicero was Dragonborn and thanked Calixto for bringing him one! Cicero doesn't want to go back, Cicero is scared Mora might decide to keep him!”

Ria had taken him into her arms as he'd gasped out the story, stroking his hair as he snuggled against her, clearly trembling. Poor thing, he seemed traumatised. Everyone had their weaknesses, and Cicero's was clearly eldritch abominations from Mora's realm of Oblivion. As weaknesses went, it would be hard to find anyone who wasn't scared of those. 

“What do we do?” Ria asked, feeling helpless. “Sounds like anyone who reads it gets sucked into Oblivion.”

“No wonder that one's here then,” said Frea, eyeing the book warily. “That must be how he did it, how he got away from the Guardian. He fled down here and used the book to escape to Apocrypha and he's been hiding all this time. Time doesn't flow there like it does here, he wouldn't have aged.”

“So in order to find and kill Miraak, Cicero's going to have to read that book and follow after him,” said Aela, face falling as she took one look at Cicero, shaking and sobbing in Ria's arms and realised he was in no shape to be fighting anything. Their quarry was hiding in the one place their fearless Dragonborn assassin was scared to go. Cicero knew it too, which was why he clung on to Ria tighter.

“Cicero can't – I can't!” he wailed. “Cicero is sorry! Cicero has failed the Listener, Mother, dear sweet Muiri and Argis, Eola, Madanach, Kodlak, everyone! Cicero... Cicero can't kill Miraak. Cicero has failed his contract.” 

“You can't have failed it, you haven't even tried it!” Aela snapped, sympathetic as always. “Come on, Cicero, they attacked Jorrvaskr, tried to kill your father! They'll do it again if you don't stop this. Come on, Shield-Brother, where's your courage?”

Cicero didn't say anything, just whimpering piteously. Well, if he wouldn't do it, someone would have to.

“It's all right, he doesn't have to do it if he doesn't want to,” said Ria gently. “We can't force him, it wouldn't be right. It's OK, Cicero, you can wait here. I'll go.”

“WHAT??” Cicero pulled back out of Ria's arms, appalled. “Certainly not! Sweet Ria isn't going! Sweet Ria would be killed on the spot! Ria is no match for Miraak! Ria would be brutally killed and then Cicero would have to break the news to Vilkas, who would likely rip poor Cicero's arms off and beat him to death with them, especially when he found out you only went because Cicero was afraid!”

“I'm not a weakling!” Ria protested, although she had to admit Miraak probably was a bit beyond her. 

“Ria isn't going,” Cicero hissed, glaring at her, and Ria took a step backwards from the fury in those dark eyes of his. Cicero turned from her to Frea.

“You! Skaal mage! You were casting Illusion spells on Cicero just now!”

“Yes, you looked upset, should I not have?” Frea asked nervously.

“No! I mean, yes! I mean, do it again!” Cicero cried. “Cast the Courage one on poor Cicero!”

Frea nodded and cast it on him. Cicero writhed in the magic, giggling to himself. 

“Yes, yes, that is much better!” he purred, skipping about on the spot. “Do not fear, dear friends. Cicero shall travel into Apocrypha, find Miraak and stab him to death, then return to tell you all the story!” He danced over to the book and flung it open, starting to read. As he did, tentacles shot out from it, black and viscous in the grotesque green glow of the book's pages, wrapping around Cicero's neck and drawing him in. Cicero's body went transparent as his mind vanished off to Apocrypha.

“What has he done??” Frea gasped. “Is he insane?”

“Yes,” said Aela softly, looking Cicero's half-there form over. “But that was something even for him.”

“He's not crazy,” Ria whispered. “Well, he is, but that's not why he did it. He's brave. He's really really brave.”

“If he comes back out of this one intact, he will be a hero to the Skaal forever,” said Frea.

If he came back out of this one intact, he'd be a pretty big hero in Jorrvaskr as well. But it was a very big if.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cicero materialised in Apocrypha, familiar green sky above him, gloopy ocean beneath, separated from him by a thin metal grille. Strange buildings towered around him, and in front of him... In front of him, flanked by two Seekers, was a man in robes, staring off into the distance, watching a strange dragon wheeling in the sky. _Miraak._

Cicero promptly dropped into a sneaking pose, slowly drawing his dagger. Miraak hadn't even noticed Cicero was there yet. Could it really be this easy? Sneaking and stabbing, the old way – the good way. The best way. Ebony dagger in hand, Cicero crept forward.

He'd gone about two steps when Miraak started and turned round, staff raised. His face was hidden by a gleaming Dragon Priest mask shaped a bit like a Seeker's face, and he took one look at Cicero and wove his staff. 

Tentacles sprang up through the grille, one around each wrist, one around each leg and one sliding round Cicero's neck, all hauling him to his knees as his dagger went skittering across the floor. Miraak picked it up, admiring it and then pocketed it.

Cicero yelped as he struggled in the tentacles' grasp, but he was very firmly held. Not his dagger, his favourite dagger, he'd had that for years, it had been a present! A bonus! A gift from a very satisfied client! He'd lost count of the number of stabbings he'd carried out with it. It was an old and dear friend, a friend that had stayed when everyone else had died or left... and Miraak had just taken it. 

“Thieving defiler, that is my knife!!!” Cicero howled, struggling to free himself, but the tentacles only tightened their grip.

“Yes, and you would have planted it in me if you could,” Miraak purred, and this was bad, this was very bad indeed. No one had warned him of this. No one had warned poor, trapped Cicero that Miraak would be tall and broad-shouldered and that his voice would flow into Cicero's ears like warm honey. Cicero could feel his cock spring into life, hard and ready and wanting and oh Sithis, this was about as bad as it could get. He was tied up, helpless, and a man with a voice that could lead an Aedra to sin was advancing on him. Cicero had had an awful lot of fantasies that started off just like this... but the reality was something else.

“So you're the latest Dragonborn,” Miraak said, sounding a mix of impressed and amused. “Finally, something interesting – you have no idea how dull this place can get after a few centuries. I was hoping Talos or Reman might have proven a worthy diversion, but alas they were both obsessed with their Empires. You however... you're not the ambitious type at all, are you? You prefer the shadows. You like being unnoticed and out of the way... and you definitely like someone else in charge, don't you?”

Cicero strained at the tentacles, to no avail, wishing the erection in his underpants would go away and his cock would just _shut up._ He'd come here to kill Miraak not have sex with him!

“Yes, you killed Alduin,” Miraak purred. “But not because it was the right thing to do, or because you wanted his power for yourself. No, you did it because your wife wanted you to. How very sweet.” He stepped closer, leaning down and trailing a gloved finger along Cicero's jaw, forcing him to look up.

“You're strong, no doubt about it,” Miraak continued, that cold mask staring down at Cicero, and Sithis that just made it sexier, utterly unmoving features while Cicero whimpered and couldn't help himself. Miraak glanced down and clearly had noticed Cicero's raging erection. “But not strong enough,” Miraak gloated. “You won't stop me. You don't even want to stop me. You want me to triumph, you want me strong... you want me.”

“Never,” Cicero gasped, willing his cock to go to sleep _now_ please. “I'm going to kill you, Miraak. I'm going to kill you and I'm going to _enjoy it._ ”

Miraak actually did laugh at that. “Are you now, Ziizahro? That remains to be seen. But I do know what is definitely going to happen right now. I'm going to fuck you, and you're going to _love it._ ”

Cicero hissed, trying to fight the tentacles, but they just tightened their grip, the one around his neck cool and clammy and slowly throttling him and Cicero couldn't breathe, his vision going dark – and then it relaxed and he could breathe again, and Sithis help him, he'd just felt his cock twitch at the mere idea of being so helpless he couldn't even breathe without Miraak's permission. 

Miraak flicked his staff again and two more tentacles sprouted up, both slithering up his legs, one caressing his throbbing genitals and the other sliding along the curve of his arse. Both got as far as his waist before halting at the waistband of his armour.

“Mmm, that is very tight armour,” Miraak purred. “It suits you, but it must surely be a little uncomfortable, especially in your... current state.” To prove his point, he reached down, unlaced Cicero's crotch and loosened the leather, freeing Cicero's cock and also loosening the armour sufficiently for the tentacles to advance. One lashed itself around his cock, tightening so hard it made Cicero sob and Sithis, oh Sithis, it hurt, it hurt, there was something in the oil that was seeping into his skin, poisoning him or drugging him or something, and then the other tentacle slid down the back of his trousers and in between his buttocks, rubbing gently at his hole.

“Oh gods,” Cicero gasped, terrified and aroused and furious all at once, and he didn't want this, he didn't, he didn't, he didn't, it was horrible and degrading and humiliating but that was just making him hornier.

“Like it, do you?” Miraak laughed. “I thought so. Beg for it, Ziizahro. Beg for it and I'll give you more.”

_No more... no more, please..._ “Please,” Cicero heard himself say, sobbing as the tentacles held him, cock throbbing with need, and Miraak laughed.

“Fabulous, this is utterly fabulous,” Miraak murmured, flicking his staff again and the tentacle nudging at Cicero's hole pushed forward and slid inside, pulsing and throbbing and _stretching_ , and Cicero couldn't help it, he was thrashing, howling, sobbing, pleading, needing something, needing to come, needing the release. Needing Delphine. Sithis, Delphine, his Listener, his wife, his lover, domme, everything, he needed her, needed her to cup his face and tell him what a good boy he was, how proud she was of him for being able to take the pain and punishment and how good he looked on his knees. 

_Delphine... sweet Delphine, I love you, I'm sorry..._

“Ah, you're too perfect to kill,” Miraak was gasping, his own breath ragged now as he reached for the crotch of his robes. “I think I'll keep you. When I come back to Tamriel, I think I'll keep you as my little pet, my little court jester. You'd like that, wouldn't you? No responsibilities, no worries, no being sent on impossible quests. Just being pampered and indulged and used and fucked and teased and _possessed_ for the rest of your life. How does that sound, hmm?”

Cicero moaned, as the tentacle in his backside seemed to actually widen if that were possible, and he could feel himself shaking as Miraak's hand gripped his jaw, Miraak's other hand unlacing his own robes, and then Miraak's cock was there, strong and hard and large, just the way Cicero liked them, and Cicero could only whimper. Then Miraak's cock was at his lips and Cicero couldn't resist as it slid into his mouth, Miraak moaning as he sunk into Cicero, fingers running through Cicero's hair as he began to fuck Cicero's mouth, and Cicero sobbed, knew he was crying at the hurt and humiliation and need, but helpless to stop, helpless to do anything but suck on Miraak's cock, wishing it was Delphine wearing a strap-on and Eola, sweet, perverted, filthy Eola with her hand up his backside, the two of them using him and abusing him and reducing him to this, not Miraak and whatever tentacled thing was currently exploring his arse. 

Miraak was thrusting harder and faster, speeding up and then a flick of the staff and the tentacle pinioning his cock began shuffling along it, skilfully pleasuring him and Miraak was hissing “yes, yes, come for me, Ziizahro, yes,” and Cicero sobbed and struggled and thrusted into the tentacle and then came, seed spurting on to the grille, sinking into the ooze and narrowly missing Miraak's boots. Miraak didn't seem to notice or even care, just grabbing Cicero's head and thrusting into Cicero's mouth, coming with a primal roar as his seed shot out and down Cicero's throat, Cicero grimacing as he was forced to swallow it. Finally Miraak withdrew, tucking himself away and stepping back, flicking his staff and watching as Cicero slumped to the floor, boneless and unmoving.

“Yes, Ziizahro, you'll do,” Miraak gasped. “I look forward to claiming the world and you, and when I have my full power, be sure you'll be at my side, chained and ready and I will claim more than just your mouth. Until then...” Miraak stepped away as a dragon that looked like a cross between dragon and lurker landed, ready to transport Miraak away.

“Send him back,” Miraak ordered as he boarded the dragon. “He can await my return with the rest of Tamriel.”

As the Seekers advanced, blasting Cicero with magic, making him scream in pain, powerless to even move, Cicero could only wail at Miraak's retreating form, and whether it was in fury for using him or in despair at being abandoned, not even Cicero could tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *snuggles poor Cicero* I'm so sorry, sweetie. *snuggles him harder* You get to stab him eventually, don't worry. (What do you mean, you're not sure if you want to now?)


	12. Broken Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four of them escape Miraak's Temple and make it to the Skaal Village for some much needed food and rest, and for a possible lead on fighting Miraak. But when their Dragonborn's been damaged and can't work out whether he wants to kill Miraak or kiss him, things may not be that easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, because I feel horrible for leaving Cicero like that. Poor thing, he's completely messed up and doesn't have his lovers to help him.
> 
> Starts with a flashback (very relevant, I promise) then back to Solstheim where Cicero slowly pulls himself back together.

_On to the roof, lower the rope down, rappel down the wall like he'd done so many times (and not just for work either, these techniques came in use for so many other delights too), stop by the window of the master bedroom, and prise the window open with a crowbar, then in. Easy._

_Cicero Di Rosso, nineteen years old and already a rising star in Bruma Sanctuary, slid into the spice merchant's house and concealed himself under the bed, Orc-made dagger at the ready, Shrouded Boots making not a sound on the tiled floor. Out in Cheydinhal for this one, as the Brotherhood made a point of never giving a contract in one town to that town's Sanctuary if they could help it. Should be simple enough – kill the merchant, make it look like a break-in, swipe some valuables (but not the ones in the box on the dresser, that was his former wife's and the client had been most insistent that get left). All Cicero had to do was wait._

_Silence. Nothing. Did the idiot never go to bed? Was he downstairs drinking or drugging himself half to death or ravishing the chamber maid? Did Cicero have to sneak down there?_

_From the down the corridor, Cicero heard a woman sob “please... no...” and then a slap and silence._

_Ravishing the chamber maid then. Cicero didn't have very many standards, it had to be said, but he did have a few, and the act of coitus made one very... distracted. He'd be a fool not to take advantage._

_To his surprise, the noise was coming from a nearby bedroom and from the size and furnishings, this wasn't servants' quarters. His quarry was there, however, a wealthy spice merchant who'd married an older woman with a teenage daughter, who'd then died. He'd taken over the business, insisting the girl was too young to manage it. The daughter disagreed and had hired the Brotherhood. Judging from the fact that he was now pinning said girl to the bed and tearing at her night-shift while she sobbed quietly, Cicero guessed money wasn't the only reason._

_Sometimes, Cicero really, really loved his job._

_Creeping up behind the distracted attempted-rapist, Cicero pounced, grabbing the man in a headlock while jamming his dagger into the man's kidneys. He fell to the floor, still breathing despite all the blood, but a slash to the throat soon saw to that. Cicero shivered as the blood went everywhere, entranced by the stuff as he always was. Red like his hair, red like Mama's – but no. Mama was dead, gone, and he had a new Mother now, a Mother who'd always love him and never leave him._

_Said Mother was going to be less than pleased considering the key part of this contract had been to make sure the teenage daughter had witnessed no part of it. She was staring up at him, pale, wide-eyed and looking like she was about to throw up._

_“I'm not getting a bonus for this one, am I?” Cicero said apologetically._

_The girl shook her head, starting to giggle._

_“No, I suppose not. But... but thank you! You saved me!” She climbed out of bed and flung her arms around him, actually kissing his cheek through the cowl._

_“Oh, no need to thank me, I was just doing my job,” Cicero purred. “I should, er, be going...”_

_“You don't have to,” the girl whispered. “The maid's got the night off, the cook's visiting her sister, and the steward's the heaviest sleeper known to man. No one's around. You could... stay a bit. After all, I just cost you your bonus and am feeling a little guilty and... ever so grateful.”_

_There was absolutely no mistaking that look. Had Cicero been a decent human being, he'd have politely declined and left, but he blatantly wasn't and all the blood had left him... aroused. Cicero pulled his cowl off, running fingers through his hair. The girl actually squealed._

_“Ohhh... you are gorgeous! I love your hair! What's your name?”_

_Everyone loved the hair. Red hair, not common at all in Cyrodiilians, certainly not in the east of the country. Mama had always said the family had Nordic blood somewhere, but at five foot eight, Cicero found that hard to believe. Still, he'd always loved his hair colour, much as he'd adored the mother he'd inherited it from._

_“Cicero,” he told her. “And you?” He slid onto the bed, draping himself alongside her._

_“Sylvana,” she whispered and that was a nice name, a pretty name, just like Mama's and he told her that too._

_“What's your mother's name?” Sylvana asked, curious._

_“Stelmaria,” Cicero whispered, repressing the pang he always felt when he thought of her. Six years now, and they said it got easier to bear. It never really had, but sex and drink could distract him for a bit._

_“Stelmaria,” Sylvana repeated. “Star of the sea, does it mean? It's a lovely name. If I have a daughter, I might call her that.”_

_Cicero shivered. No, no, there could be only one, no one could ever compare to his Mama._

_“Don't,” he said softly. “Call her something else. Something similar, if you like.”_

_Sylvana nodded, guessing that there was some pain there, some secret around his mother. “Does she know what you do for a living?” she asked. Cicero shook his head._

_“No. She... she died. When the Imperial City fell.” He didn't say any more. He didn't need to. Sylvana might have only been a child when the Dominion invaded, but she knew about the Fall of the White Tower. Everyone did. No one ever talked about it though. Too painful._

_“I'm so sorry,” she whispered, drawing closer and stroking his hair. “You poor thing. You can't have been very old at the time, were you?”_

_“Thirteen,” Cicero whispered, trying not to remember hiding in their cellar, clutching a dagger, hiding there for days while the battle raged and his mama never came back, because she'd told him not to leave until she came for him. Finally, he'd been too hungry to obey any longer and gone looking. Their home had been ransacked, but they'd not found the cellar. The battle lines had moved on, but he eventually found her body, burnt, butchered, eaten by rats, almost unrecognisable but he'd know the hair anywhere. He'd howled for hours until some of his former neighbours finally found him, took care of him while they buried her and then handed him over to an orphanage. He'd never been the same since._

_“I'm so sorry,” Sylvana whispered again, putting her arms around him and pulling him to her, and that helped, that always helped, having a woman in his arms, breasts pushed up against him, warmth, softness, being able to lose himself in her; Cicero had discovered sex young and rapidly become hooked on it. One thing about being short was that women seemed to find him cute and lovable and harmless, which made them very easy to seduce. Cicero found that he could quite live with everyone being taller than him if a plentiful supply of sex was the result._

_“Is there anything I can do to help?” Sylvana breathed into his ear in a voice that left no doubt as to her intentions. Cicero looked up, taking in dark hair, dark eyes and an oval face that reminded him of his mother a little._

_“Yes,” Cicero murmured, reaching up and kissing her. She'd sighed as he touched her, kissing him back most enthusiastically and things had gone on from there. He'd stayed all night, enjoying himself immensely, before slipping away as morning came._

_Sometimes, Cicero really,_ really, _fucking loved his job._

_No bonus, of course, but it turned out Sylvana had been able to successfully persuade everyone she'd been so traumatised by the thief who'd snuck into her bedroom, raped her and then murdered her stepfather when he'd tried to save her, she'd been unable to raise the alarm until the steward came to check on her in the morning and found her covered in blood and sobbing in a little ball. A big, burly red-haired Nord apparently. And Nords were supposed to be the honourable type, honestly._

_However, he did get one little surprise out of it. He didn't get his original bonus but Sylvana apparently had felt so grateful, she'd passed on a little present along with the payment. A fine ebony dagger and a little note to go kill some more rapists with it. Cicero had squealed in delight to see it. It was a better dagger than half the Sanctuary's! While he'd stabbed an awful lot of people with it, most of whom generally weren't sex offenders, he'd never forgotten the woman who'd sent it. Not safe to keep in touch, of course, but all the same, she'd been kind and pretty and most delightful to lie with. He wished her well, and while Vaermina would later steal the memory of her face and Delphine and Eola would claim his heart, he still treasured that dagger dearly._

_Until Miraak stole it._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The tentacles left Cicero's body as the book fell from his hands. Cicero materialised fully, collapsing to the floor in a heap, shaking all over, huddling in a little ball and sobbing, he was actually rocking and sobbing. 

“Sweet Mara,” Ria gasped, falling to her knees next to him. “Cicero, gods, Cicero, are you all right?”

“What's wrong?” Aela asked, alarmed. “What happened to him?”

“Herma Mora,” Frea whispered, making the Skaal sign to ward off misfortune. “All-Maker help him, no one is the same after Mora has touched them.”

“Cicero,” Ria whispered, stroking his hair. “Cicero, are you all right?”

His eyes fluttered and slowly he crawled into her lap, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Mama?” he whispered. 

“Ria,” Ria told him. “Cicero, please, are you all right?”

Cicero shook his head, snuggling into her lap. 

“He took my dagger!” he whispered. “My pretty ebony one! He fought me off and _took my dagger!”_

“But you've got two others,” said Ria, confused. He was this upset over a dagger? Didn't make sense even for him.

“It was a present!” Cicero wailed. “A gift! From someone who was kind to poor Cicero. Cicero has had it for years! Probably longer than sweet Ria has been alive! And... and Miraak stole it!” He dissolved into tears, howling in Ria's arms as she held him and tried to soothe him. Well, hadn't she seen a meltdown coming? No sleep, probably hungry and now he'd just lost a fight and his favourite weapon to Miraak. 

“You poor thing,” she whispered, cradling him and stroking his cheek. “What happened, Cicero?”

“Miraak's not dead, I take it,” said Aela grimly. Cicero shook his head but did not speak.

“I did not think it would be so easy as that,” Frea sighed. “Cicero, do not blame yourself. It took a mighty warrior and a whole host of dragons to defeat him last time. You are just one man.”

“Cicero is Dragonborn!” Cicero howled. “Cicero is Kul-se-Monahvulon! Cicero killed Alduin, Miraak should not have been a problem!”

“So what went wrong?” Aela asked, frowning. “What exactly did he do to you?”

Cicero shuddered and when he did speak, it was in a very quiet, barely audible voice.

“His voice... his voice was stronger...”

“He knows Shouts you don't,” Ria breathed, cuddling Cicero that bit tighter. Cicero hesitated then cuddled her back, sniffling. “Oh, you poor thing.”

“So we need to find out what these Shouts are and get Cicero to learn them,” said Aela thoughtfully. “Any idea where to start?”

Ria's eyes fell on the Black Book, lying on the floor. Steeling herself, she picked it up and shoved it into her pack. 

“We need to find someone who knows about Black Books and Hermaeus Mora,” said Ria. “If Miraak's tapping dark magic and secret knowledge, he probably got it from Mora. Cicero, think your brother Calixto would know?”

“I don't know,” Cicero whispered miserably. “I don't think so, the book we found was the first he'd seen... but he did read the Oghma Infinium. Oh, but Ria, if he knew, he would know how to free Aranea and that is the first thing he would have done! He is not a good man, but he does love her!”

Even Aela had to agree that was true.

“So what do we do?” Ria asked, feeling helpless. “We can't send Cicero back in to that book, look at him! And if whatever was in there was strong enough to do that to him...” Ria really didn't want to think about what was frightening enough to scare Cicero like this. 

Cicero had taken her hand, squeezing it.

“Cicero is very glad sweet Ria did not go in there,” he whispered, and that sent chills down her spine. What in Oblivion had Miraak done to him?

“We should talk to my father,” said Frea, pressing a hand to Cicero's shoulder and alternating a calming spell with some healing magic. “He will know what to do. He studied Miraak in detail. He always said that only a Dragonborn would ever really be able to bring Miraak down but that he'd keep fighting anyway. Well, now we've got a Dragonborn.”

Ria looked down at the broken, frightened man in her arms, staring up at her in terror. Her heart sank just looking at him. Fierce, fearless Cicero, reduced to this. Laughing, lunatic, unstoppable Cicero, the Jester Dragonborn himself, broken and defeated. He'd just gone up against Miraak and lost, barely escaping with his life, it looked like. He was their secret weapon, their mighty hero, and he'd lost. 

It didn't bode well for anyone. Ria wished Kodlak or Delphine were here. They'd know what to do, and Delphine of all people knew how to tend to an unhappy Cicero. But she wasn't here, and all Cicero had was her.

It would have to be enough.

“Where's your village?” Ria asked, getting to her feet and helping Cicero up. He was clinging to her pathetically, but could at least walk. Something to be thankful for.

“It's not far,” said Frea gently. “This tunnel seems to lead out, shall we see where it goes?”

“Come on,” said Ria softly, leading Cicero after Frea and Aela, both of whom kept glancing back at Cicero, worried and rightly so. Frea's concern might be just compassion for a fellow human in distress, but Aela didn't worry about a lot and knew Cicero fairly well. Anything that had this effect on him of all people must be pretty damn terrifying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The tunnel did indeed lead out into Solstheim's snowy exterior, and Frea recognised the territory at once, claiming her village wasn't far. Sure enough, after a few minutes, they were there, another stone like the Earth Stone being worked on by chanting Skaal, which Frea called the Wind Stone, and beyond that, the village itself, hidden behind a magical shield. 

“There,” said Frea. “My father's keeping the village safe behind that barrier, let's go!”

They followed after her, Aela having no trouble keeping up, but Cicero stumbling, clearly exhausted and done in, and it was all Ria could do to hold him upright and help him along. They trailed after, Ria coaxing him over the bridge, then through the barrier and into the Skaal Village. To her surprise, the architecture looked just like that in Whiterun and despite the thick fur coats, the presence of what were essentially Nords helped her feel right at home.

“Come on,” she whispered to Cicero. “We're here.”

Something in Cicero had shifted as they'd passed through the barrier, some weight off his shoulders. Ria didn't know what it was, but it was good to see him looking a little less miserable. Frea was talking excitedly to a man kneeling near the fire, a standing stone at his back and a spiral of magic coming from him. Two more villagers were kneeling nearby, helping. That must be Storn, Frea's father.

“Father, father, I bring news!” Frea was gasping. “It's as you feared – Miraak is doing this!”

Storn looked grave, hearing this. “Then we are in trouble, daughter. Ill news indeed that he still lives. He was ever the right hand of Herma Mora, and he has the power of dragons besides. What else?”

“He is not the only one with dragon power!” Frea said, pointing to Cicero. Ria edged him forwards and lowered him to the ground where he collapsed in a little heap. Ria sat down next to him and pulled him into her arms again.

“You bring guests,” Storn said, eyes not leaving Ria and Cicero. 

“We're friends,” said Aela, coming to kneel on Ria's other side. “Miraak sent his priests to Skyrim to attack us, so we came here to do something about it.”

“You're here for revenge?” Storn asked, eyeing Aela warily.

“We're here to stop him,” Ria interrupted before Aela could start in and ruin things by replying that honour demanded it or something along those lines. At least Cicero was too out of it to start going on about blood and filthy defilers. “If Miraak comes back, he won't stop at Solstheim. We need to make sure he never does.” She patted Cicero's shoulder. “We brought a Dragonborn.”

Storn glanced at Cicero, curled up with his head on Ria's shoulder then looked back to Ria, staring right into her eyes. 

“Yes, you certainly have,” he said, faint flickers of hope in his voice. “But whether it is enough remains to be seen. Still, I will take it as a sign the All-Maker has not abandoned us. May I know your names?”

“I'm Ria, that's Aela and this is Cicero, our Dragonborn,” said Ria, patting Cicero's shoulder. Cicero didn't respond, other than by sliding down in response and slumping in her arms, dead to the world and fast asleep. _Poor man, he must be exhausted._ It was only here, under Storn's barrier, that he could actually sleep in safety. Something not to be wasted.

“He's the Dragonborn,” said Storn, looking a little disappointed. “I see. Is he well?”

“Not really,” said Aela wearily. “He's a bit unstable anyway, he's been up for over a day and he just used a Black Book to travel to Apocrypha and try to fight Miraak there, and it didn't go well.”

“A Black Book!” Storn breathed, going pale. “It is as bad as I feared. Worse, maybe.”

“What do we do, father?” Frea whispered. “You said we needed a Dragonborn, now we have one, but when he came back from Apocrypha... he came back damaged.”

Storn sighed heavily, clearly grieved by this. “Such is often the case with these things, even when the mind is ready. He clearly was not. But he is still Dragonborn and if his mind was not completely destroyed, there may still be a way. If he can still Shout.”

Ria ruffled his hair, hoping he still could. If not, they were all doomed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Cicero had been put to bed in the village's great hall – with nearly everyone out working on the Wind Stone all day and night, there were plenty to spare. Ria took a bed near Cicero while Aela made herself comfortable in the house belonging to the village hunter, and they all slept well for a few hours, until the sun set below the horizon and night fell.

Ria was woken by Cicero prodding her.

“Ria?” he whispered. He was dressed in his full jester motley for once, Nettlebane at his side instead of his usual dagger, kneeling by her bed and gazing up at her, dark eyes huge in the half-light. “Is this Jorrvaskr? It looks like Jorrvaskr. Is Papa here?”

He never called Kodlak that. Never. Harbinger, Kodlak, occasionally referring to him as father, but rarely addressing him as such directly.

“No, Cicero, it's the Skaal Village,” said Ria, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She winced as Cicero's face fell.

“We are on Solstheim,” he said quietly. Ria nodded, hoping he wasn't going to go mad. She'd heard from Eola the story of what happened after Delphine kicked him out that one time, how he'd lost his sanity completely for a bit. Eola had been there to take care of him that time. Ria had no idea how she'd manage it. 

“It really happened,” Cicero whispered. Ria nodded, not sure what he was referring to but knowing it wasn't pleasant, whatever it was. Cicero sniffled and then started crying softly, head resting on Ria's bed. Ria put her arms around him again, cuddling him and rubbing his back, shifting over to make room. Cicero dived under the furs and snuggled next to her, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Don't leave me, Shield-Sister,” he whispered unhappily. Ria promised she wouldn't.

“Can you still Shout?” she whispered. Cicero blinked once and looked up, confused.

“I think so, why?”

“Try it,” Ria urged. Cicero actually giggled, nibbling his thumbnail.

“Oh but sister, Cicero is not allowed to Shout indoors outside combat, you know that!”

“Delphine's not here! Or Kodlak! Go on, just one, just to show you still can,” Ria coaxed. Cicero sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Oh very well, if you insist. _Laas Yah Nir!_ ” 

It was a whisper rather than a Shout, but Cicero still looked smug. 

“See, it worked.”

“What did it do?” Ria asked, confused. She'd expected something fancy but nothing had happened.

“Allowed me to detect living things nearby.” Cicero glanced around, curious. “No, nothing here but you and me. And four outside. And one in the distance that might be Aela, but nothing else.” Cicero lay back down, despondency settling back in. “Sister, Cicero is hungry.”

Fortunately, Frea had left them both some food, anticipating that Cicero would want some when he woke up – seared slaughterfish and bread, but Cicero wolfed it down and returned to bed.

“You will not leave poor Cicero?” he whispered, looking afraid. Ria rubbed his back, feeling sorry for the poor man. 

“No,” she whispered. “Go to sleep.” 

Cicero nodded and snuggled into the furs. Before long, he was asleep again, but Ria stayed awake for a very long time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning. Cicero's eyes fluttered open in the daylight. He had no idea where he was, but it looked a bit like Jorrvaskr. Or Dragonsreach. Or...

Skaal Village. Solstheim. Miraak. 

Oh Sithis. Miraak. Miraak with that golden mask and those shoulders and those pretty robes and sweet Night Mother, that _voice_ and that amazing cock and that staff and all the tentacles and oh Sithis, no. No no no!

His voice had been stronger, he'd told Ria, but it wasn't the Thu'um. Miraak hadn't had to Shout to break him at all. Just speak. And use him.

Cicero fell back on the pillows. Ria, was curled up next to him in her night-shift which was going to prove awkward because Cicero's erection was back and while Delphine was fairly tolerant of meaningless sex while Cicero was away from Sanctuary, Ria was a sweet and innocent young thing who should be protected and kept safe, not defiled and debased, and if Delphine might overlook a one-off, Kodlak would not. He would be most displeased at Cicero taking pleasure from his Shield-Siblings. Not to mention Vilkas' likely reaction, were Vilkas not mind-controlled. No, a quiet session of self-pleasure was right off the cards, particularly because Cicero didn't trust himself not to moan Miraak's name when he did.

Sithis, this was bad. Very bad indeed to want a target that badly, especially when said target was strong and dominant and could command tentacles and... Cicero could weep. He'd hated the entire experience and yet he couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't stop wanting to reach for that damn book again and disappear into Apocrypha and beg Miraak to do it again. And even if he resisted that, once he'd killed Miraak, he'd never get to experience it again. 

_Delphine, I'm sorry, I love you, I miss you, please..._

More than anything, he wanted his wife. Delphine would make it all better, she always did and he loved her, he did, she'd remind him of his place, remind him what he really wanted and needed. But she wasn't here and Cicero was all alone. Just Ria and Aela, and two people he'd be less likely to talk to about this, he couldn't imagine. Apart from Kodlak. Or anyone else in Jorrvaskr. Or Elisif, or Madanach. Come to think of it, Ralof probably wouldn't want to hear this either. _Ralof, sweet Ralof, I cannot fill this contract because the target violated me with eldritch horrors and now I can't stop thinking about it and want him to use me again._

Even Eola would have a hard time remaining non-judgemental over that one, although she'd probably understand. He missed her too, sweet, filthy Eola who always understood him and his darker urges.

But none of them were here and no one would understand, no one. So he couldn't talk about it. He'd just have to remember that Miraak was an evil Temple-defiling bastard and not a sexy one, not at all, and see the contract through. Mother was relying on him, after all.

He exchanged his motley for the thicker layers of his dragonscale armour and wrapped a fur around him, before heating up some stew and having breakfast. Then time to find out what to do next.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Ria got up not long after Cicero did, and once dressed and fed, both went out to see what the morning brought. The news was not good. Aela was waiting, sitting and watching the four remaining Skaal focus on the barrier.

“Storn,” Ria said softly. “Cicero's awake and... feeling better.”

Hah. No, Cicero really really wasn't, but sleep and food had restored him a little. Time to find out what horrific challenge awaited him today.

“Hello,” said Cicero, settling down next to the Skaal shaman. “You are Frea's father, Storn, yes?”

“I am.” Storn turned to look at Cicero, appraising him with some caution. “They tell me you are Dragonborn, like Miraak. Are you?”

Cicero nodded. “Yes sir. Cicero is Dragonborn. Cicero has killed many dragons and learnt many Words of Power... but he is worried Miraak knows more. Cicero read a Black Book and went to Apocrypha and fought Miraak... but Miraak won and sent me back. Now Cicero's afraid he might not be able to stop him.” _Or want to._

“It is true, father,” Frea confirmed. “I saw the book. It is an evil thing. When Cicero came back... we feared his mind gone for good.”

Storn turned back to Cicero, eyes full of pity. “It is a hard burden to bear, but if you are Dragonborn, the only other Dragonborn known to us – then it may be you are the only one who can save us. You know in order to defeat him, you will have to walk the path he trod. It is a dark one, Cicero Dragonborn.”

“Sir,” said Cicero softly. “I'm not scared of the dark.” _No, I want it, need it, want to follow him, want his cock in my arse and those tentacles round my neck again... Night Mother forgive me, what has he done to me??_

“That may be the danger,” Storn replied, something almost like fear – or resignation – in his eyes. “In truth, I don't know if you are here to save us or destroy us. Perhaps both. But if you are Dragonborn, then it needs to be you. I can tell you where it all started. Go to Saering's Watch on the north coast of the island. There is a Word Wall there. It was the Word of Power on that wall that started Miraak's treachery. What it taught him... it made him hungry for more and so he made a pact with Mora. Learn that Word. Come back here, and use it on the Wind Stone. That should free the Skaal. Do that, and maybe I'll be able to tell you more.”

Well, that didn't sound so hard. Go to a place, learn a word, Shout it at the Wind Stone, free the Skaal, get praised for being a hero, repeat trick at Raven Rock to free Aranea and Vilkas, curl up in Aranea's arms and maybe tell her about it all, then see if Storn knew how to kill Miraak. How hard could it be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harder than you can even imagine, Cicero. Next chapter involves dragons, werebears, and Cicero's past coming back to haunt him.


	13. Secrets at Saering's Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero, Aela and Ria head off to Saering's Watch, but the real discovery isn't what's written on the Word Wall.

Saering's Watch wasn't far, not at all, but it involved glaciers and snow and trudging across icefields. They knew it when they saw it though. A Nordic ruin facing out across the ocean – and it was defended by several Draugr, all fighting a huge dragon. 

“Oh good,” Cicero muttered. “A dragon. Just what poor Cicero needed.”

“Dragon!” Ria yelled, reaching for her bow. “About time, I needed a real fight!”

“For Jorrvaskr!” Aela cried, already firing off some shots. Companions, honestly. Cicero loved them all dearly but really, did any of them have any sense of self-preservation? Given that both women had gone for the dragon but ignored the Draugr on the ground, clearly not.

“JOOR ZAH FRUL!” Cicero shouted at the dragon, grinning as it wheeled around before crashing to the ground. Unsheathing Dawnbreaker and his ebony sword, he left the dragon to Ria and Aela and prepared to face the Deathlords heading his way.

Maybe he had an impossible task ahead of him. But dealing with Draugr? That he could more than manage.

While Cicero was taking on the Draugr, cackling gleefully as he carved them up, an explosion from Dawnbreaker sending the remainder running, Ria was staring down the dragon, alternating blocking and hacking, constantly dancing out of the way of those jaws. It was getting easier. She'd only faced one dragon before, the one she and Cicero had fought by Lake Yorgrim. This one seemed tougher, but even so, her katana was doing the job. All the same, the Dragonrend didn't last and it was in the air again, bloodied but not dead, not remotely. 

Ria looked for Cicero, currently running around on the ruins, laughing as he chased down the Draugr. He did deign to Shout at the dragon again for her, which was nice of him, but Ria and Aela were otherwise on their own. Then another Draugr made a break for Aela, and Ria was really on her own. Just in time for the dragon to land again. 

“I'll end you, dragon!” Ria shouted, sounding braver than she felt. The dragon almost seemed to be laughing – right up until Ria abandoned her shield and dual-wielded her Blades katana and the glass sword from Madanach instead. Blood went everywhere as Ria dived and slashed and cut, heedless of anything but the fight, just her and the dragon. She was dimly aware of Aela finishing the last of the Draugr, and then arrows raining in from her and Cicero, all hitting the target but Cicero's seeming to sink through the dragon's skin like butter. One hit the dragon square in the eye, then Ria marshalled her strength and stabbed down with both swords. The dragon roared its last and expired in front of her. 

Aela lowered her bow, checked quickly to make sure Ria wasn't injured, before wandering off to gather her arrows. Cicero meanwhile was still up on the ruins, clearly poking about in search of the Word Wall. Leaving Ria to watch the dragon. It was burning in front of her, something she'd been told only happened when a Dragonborn was around, and any minute now the soul would boil out of it and rush for Cicero. Ria just hoped he was close enough. 

White light and rushing and fire as the dragon soul emerged, and Ria had to close her eyes. Was it her or did it feel brighter than the last time this had happened, and why did she feel so warm? She could feel something wrapping around her like a dragon's fire and then the warmth sank into her skin. Something like a dragon screamed inside her, and then doors snapped over it and it was gone – no, not gone. Lurking. Trapped. Waiting for something, and all the words of Draconic she'd ever seen on a Word Wall glimmered in front of her – KLO, SHUL, QAH. She had a feeling she should be able to do something with them, but she wasn't sure what. What she did know was that something had just gone very very wrong. She opened her eyes to see one dragon skeleton – and Aela staring at her from the other side of it.

“Ria,” said Aela slowly. “What did you just do?”

High up on the ruins, Cicero had heard the sound of the dragon burning, braced himself for impact... and nothing. No soul. No white light. No dragon fire. Nothing. Alarm bells ringing, he turned to see one dragon skeleton, Ria staring at her hands, and Aela staring at Ria. The dragon's soul was clearly gone... but he'd not taken it. So if he'd not got it, where was it??

“What happened?” he growled as he ran over. “Where is my dragon soul?”

Aela was still staring at Ria, and slowly Cicero turned to look at her, realisation starting to dawn.

“Ria,” Cicero purred. “Where did my dragon soul go?”

“I – I don't know,” Ria gasped. “I was just standing here, watching it burn, and then there was this light and it was so loud and I couldn't see and then it was gone!”

“Gone?” cried Aela. “Ria, it flowed round you then disappeared!”

Cicero's eyes had widened, his entire face going rigid, lips curving in a horrible fixed smile.

“You took my dragon soul.”

“I didn't mean to!” Ria cried, backing away, it suddenly occurring to her that Cicero was a Dark Brotherhood assassin at core, and while he was normally all smiles and friendliness, he could turn into a vicious murderer in a second. He'd certainly just turned vicious, and Ria, for the first time in a long time, began to feel afraid of him. Cicero's grin widened and then he began to laugh, throwing his head back and howling, but this didn't reassure Ria in the slightest.

“A joke! A joke! A funny joke! Ria has hidden the dragon soul, playing a trick on foolish Cicero! Hahaha! Look, it's funny, Cicero is laughing, see!” The laughter died in seconds, as Cicero's face twisted in rage. “Give it back.”

“I don't – I can't!” Ria cried, backing away. “I don't know how!” Cicero's glare intensified, and he drew Nettlebane, closing the gap between them.

“Give. It. BACK!” he shrieked, left hand grabbing Ria by the throat as he raised his knife, apparently deaf to her sobs and pleading. 

“Cicero!” Ria sobbed. “I'm sorry, please!” Cicero just snarled – and then an iron arrow smacked into his side. Cicero staggered from the impact, letting Ria go. Ria scrambled back, raising her shield, terrified. 

On the other side of the dragon, Aela was advancing, nocking a second arrow, an Elven one this time, and pointing it right at Cicero's throat.

“WE DO NOT KILL OUR SHIELD-BROTHERS AND SISTERS OVER A DISPUTE, CICERO!” Aela roared at him. “YOU LAY ONE FINGER ON HER AGAIN AND THE NEXT ARROW WILL BE IN YOUR SKULL, I MEAN IT!”

“Kodlak would not be pleased to learn you'd killed his son, sister,” Cicero hissed, yanking the arrow out and radiating healing magic into the wound.

“The agreement was you'd kill no more Companions,” Aela growled. “You harm Ria, you are no longer a Shield-Brother.”

“She stole my dragon soul!” Cicero protested. “Thieving is not permitted in the Companions any more than the Brotherhood allow it!”

“It's not her fault she's Dragonborn too!” Aela cried, and that did it. Ria sank to her knees, feeling faint. Dragonborn – no. She couldn't be. She really couldn't be. She wasn't... she wasn't a hero, she was just a warrior and not even that skilled.

“Dragonborn... oh gods,” she whispered, and then she started to cry.

“I'm not!” she sobbed. “I'm not, I can't be, I can't be, you're meant to be the unstoppable deathbringer, not me!”

Cicero was staring at her again, the anger gone from his face, and replacing it was something not seen often there – sorrow, pity and guilt.

“Cicero wasn't meant to be either,” Cicero whispered, sheathing his dagger. “The Dragonborn died – was killed when Alduin attacked Helgen. The only other person in Skyrim with dragon blood was humble Cicero, so the gods had to make a pact with the Night Mother. But if you have dragon blood too – why?” He caught his breath then laughed, sounding bitter. “Of course, of course, they did not trust the Night Mother to keep her word, they wanted a back-up. Ria was not ready to fight Alduin, she was barely trained back then, she would have died. But if Cicero could at least buy time for Ria to get trained at Jorrvaskr – yes, yes, Cicero sees.” He approached her, kneeling on the snow a few feet away. Ria flinched a little as his fingers reached out for her, and he saw, looked away unhappily and lowered his fingers.

“Cicero is sorry, sweet Ria,” he whispered. “Cicero didn't... he would never... Cicero cares, he does! Only he did not know you were Dovahkiin too.”

“I never fought a dragon before,” Ria whispered. “Only with you, and you took the soul.”

“Because I was nearer that time, sweetling,” said Cicero quietly. “Whoever is closest gets the soul.”

Aela had lowered her bow and come to crouch next to Ria.

“Are you all right?” she asked, an arm around her shoulders. Ria shook her head.

“No, of course not! I'm a bloody Dragonborn, I'm expected to kill dragons, I have no idea what I'm doing or how the Thu'um works or anything, and he just tried to stab me!” Ria shifted loser to Aela, shaking all over. “Is it true, what Delphine and Esbern said? That there can only be one Dragonborn at a time because the strongest kills the others unless they're his kin?”

“He'd better not,” Aela growled. “He may have killed Alduin, but he is not immortal.”

Cicero went very pink at this. “Sister Aela flatters me – but I am not the strongest. Miraak... Miraak is stronger.”

“Don't say that!” Ria cried. “We've got to kill him, he's really powerful and you have to fight him, you're all we've got!”

“Not any more,” Cicero breathed, breaking into a gleeful smile as he gazed fondly at her. “Now there are two of us!”

“No. Oh no,” Ria gasped, feeling hysterical at the mere thought of taking on Miraak. “Cicero, I don't know a thing about the Thu'um. I can't fight Miraak, I can't!”

“Cicero did not say he would let you do it alone,” Cicero whispered, drawing closer, still smiling. “Cicero shall be there. Cicero knows you are not ready. Cicero shall teach you things, many things! If he could teach Elisif, he can teach you. And you are a far more skilled warrior than she was, not to mention less averse to blood and violence.”

Stendarr, no, she'd always been fond of a good fight. Her mother had tried to persuade her to more ladylike pursuits, but then she'd got married to a Nord warrior and any attempt to encourage her daughter not to take up the blade had died a death right there.

“Please tell me I'm not going to start dancing in the blood of my foes and singing about 'those who try to fight sweet Ria, die in pain and blood and fear'?” Ria asked, hoping the dragon blood didn't automatically mean she'd turn into an insane murderer. Cicero raised his eyebrows then burst out laughing.

“Hee! That is a good one, very good indeed, Ria is getting the hang of it already!” Cicero cackled.

“You are not helping!” Aela snapped, rubbing Ria's arm. “Don't worry, Ria, from what Eola tells me, he was like this a long time before the dragon blood got activated. I think you'll be fine. At least you're not related to him.”

“Yeah...” said Ria faintly, remembering Odahviing's reaction on first meeting her. He must have known, must have been able to tell, been able to sense the dragon blood. He'd even asked if she and Cicero were kin.

“There is nothing wrong with being related to Cicero!” Cicero protested. “Kodlak is related to Cicero and he is a fine and honourable man, and Mama is a kind and loving woman! Even if she does keep nagging poor Cicero to eat his vegetables...” He tilted his head, looking curious. “Ria does not have any Stelmarias or Di Rossos in her family, does she? Ria is not short for Stelmaria?”

“Silmaria,” Ria said, finally smiling a little, as she recalled her mother talking about her real father. “It was nearly Stelmaria though. Ma liked the name, but my real father asked her not to use it. It had bad memories for him. You might be related to him maybe. I don't know anything about him. Ma would never talk about him, only that he'd done more for her than she could ever repay, but that she didn't know where he'd gone and then she'd got word he'd died. She went out to Bruma of all places to find him, but I don't think she got anywhere. But she did meet Pa out there – he was one of the guards there and he helped her. Followed her back to Cheydinhal after, he was that smitten. I was about five, I think.”

“Five,” Cicero breathed, and he'd gone very still and very pale. “Ria is how old now?”

“Twenty one, why – no. You... no,” Ria whispered, and she knew intellectually Cicero was twice her age, more or less, but he acted like such a child most of the time, it was easy to forget. 

“Sixteen years ago, Bruma Sanctuary burned,” Cicero whispered. “All Cyrodiil heard the news. Cicero was the only survivor, because he was out carousing while his brothers and sisters died. So he escaped to Cheydinhal Sanctuary instead, and that Sanctuary was never breached, no one knew of it. And Ria was five, and Ria's mother came out to Bruma because she feared Ria's father had died... Sweet Sylvana wanted to know if I'd escaped.”

“NO!” Ria howled, although she knew it in her heart it must be true. Dragon blood had to come from somewhere, and Cicero's mother was Stelmaria, killed in the war, no wonder he hadn't wanted anyone named after her. Sweet gods, her mother had hired the Dark Brotherhood?? In her teens? Been so grateful, she'd had sex with the assassin? No wonder she'd always refused to talk about him.

Cicero was still babbling, actually looking pleased, damn him, in fact he was staring adoringly at her face. “That is what she looked like! Cicero had forgotten! Vaermina took the memory and he didn't know any more! But Ria is here and she looks like her mother, and she is pretty and so was Sylvana!”

“You are not my father!” Ria screamed, tearing at her hair and feeling about ready to cry. She'd always thought of him as a good man, a kind man, a gentleman, maybe even a hero. Not... not Cicero. Not a madman in a jester's hat, however lovable he could be. Not a Dark Brotherhood assassin.

“Ria?” Cicero whispered, actually looking hurt and that was worse, realising that not only had he sired her, he seemed to want to actually be a parent now. “Sweetling?”

“I can't...” Ria gasped. “I can't deal with this, I'm sorry, I just can't.” Before Cicero could react, she turned and fled, desperate to get away, get anywhere but here.

“RIA!” Cicero howled, reaching for her, but Aela was there stopping him from following.

“Leave her,” said Aela through gritted teeth. “She's just found out she's Dragonborn and it's your fault, she'll need time to get used to the idea. I'll go. You got the word off the wall? Good. Get back to the Skaal Village, I'll find Ria and meet you there.”

Cicero's face fell, but he nodded sadly. Aela squeezed his shoulder and ran after Ria, leaving Cicero there, despondent. Sweet Ria, his. All these years and he'd never known and she was Dragonborn too. Doubly his fault, both the blood and the fact she'd ever been called. He'd never really wanted children, but he did like them. He liked Ria, always had. She was kind and nice and innocent. He'd always felt protective of her. Well, now he knew why. _Ria, moni, I'm sorry. You don't have to call me father but... I'll do whatever I can for you, sweetling._

That of course was when the screaming started.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Ria ran, desperate to get as far away as possible from Cicero, from the dead dragon, from all of it. _Dragonborn, Dragonborn, I can't be Dragonborn, Cicero is not my – he and my mother never... oh gods._ She remembered the first time she'd seen him, Shouting Farkas to the floor back in Dustman's Cairn before advancing on the cage she'd got stuck in. She'd been terrified, especially when he'd smiled – but there'd been something about him, even then, some sense of knowing him, understanding him, and it had clearly been mutual, because he'd cooed and fluttered over her and shown her how to fight properly. He'd been more help in a few hours than Vilkas had ever been, and he'd seemed keen on her not dying.

He wasn't her father. He couldn't be. He must be the least paternal male she'd ever met – come to think of it, he was the least male male she'd ever met. Fierce, yes, strong, yes – but those weren't qualities unique to men and from what she'd seen of Stelmaria, Cicero was every inch her son.

She really couldn't see Cicero as anyone's father, much less hers. And yet he not only seemed to be exactly that, he'd landed her with dragon blood. Kynareth help her. 

A growl from up ahead, and Ria stopped dead. Sounded like a bear – well, she'd dealt with bears before. She drew her sword, looking around. Three bear-like shapes padded out of the shadows – all right, perhaps a bit of a challenge. 

Then they stood upright and Ria knew she was in trouble. 

_Werebears. Oh gods._ She screamed, holding her shield up and readying her glass sword. _Aela, Cicero, please, please help me._

Then the werebears were on her, claws tearing at her armour, her shield fending them off, her sword getting a few hits in, but there were three of them, they were strong and they weren't going down like bears did after a few swipes.

“Cicero!” she cried, willing to forgive him anything if he turned up and saved her. “CICERO!”

One of the bears raked its claws down her arm and another was preparing to pounce. Ria remembered Cicero calling Odahviing by name, and what had Odahviing called him? It was worth a try. 

“ZII-ZAH-RO!” The Shout echoed out, causing the ground to shake and her to fall back. The bears all stopped, looking at her oddly, before growling and moving in for the kill.

Then a howl split the sky, giving the bears pause but bringing hope to Ria's heart. A wolf howl – more than a wolf howl. Aela.

Two ghost wolves and an all too real werewolf sprang into action, Aela taking on the biggest werebear by herself while the spirit wolves took on one each. Ria rallied, tackling one of the bears while a wolf distracted it – only to see the spirit wolf torn apart by the bear she'd attacked, and the other bear do likewise, and the two of them turn on her. Aela was wrestling the other one, blood and fur going everywhere, and wouldn't be able to help. In fact, the werebear had her on her back, pinning her down, and Ria had the horrible thought that Aela and she weren't going to win this one, that this was it, dying alone on the far reaches of a small island out in the Sea of Ghosts.

_Mara have mercy, I don't want to die, I don't want to die, not like this, please..._

“MUL QAH!” The Shout rang out, and then he was there, short red-haired lunatic, but far more than that now, glowing with a dragon's shape and both swords out. One of the bears went for him... and regretted it at once.

“YOL TOOR SHUL!” 

Ria had seen him breathe fire before, but never like that. The flames virtually incinerated the bear, and a thrust from Dawnbreaker finished it. Then Cicero was on to the other werebear – not able to Shout at this one, but his sword thrusts carving into it as if he was dual-wielding battleaxes. She'd never seen him fight anything like this before.

On the other side of him, she saw the big werebear reach up to claw Aela, who had gone very still and was bleeding heavily. She reached for her bow to distract it – and then saw a fourth werebear appear from out of nowhere, smacking into the first one and roaring at it, claws slicing into its flesh. Aela rolled away, weak but still alive at least, crawling to safety while the bears fought. Flesh shimmered and then she was human again, collapsing in a heap on the snow. Cicero finished off his werebear and, raising his swords, began to advance on the other two. The newcomer growled and tore the throat out of its opponent, before its own flesh rippled and a man stood there, blonde, Nord, unashamedly naked.

“You??” Aela gasped, glaring at him, rolling over to hide her own nudity. “What in Oblivion...?”

The man grinned at her, lust and triumph in his eyes. “You're mine, Red Wolf. Maybe you don't realise it yet, but you are.”

“I am not your mate!” Aela shouted. Cicero tilted his head, dragon form still flickering around his body.

“Sister, is he _bothering_ you?” Cicero purred, in the tone of voice that positively hoped the answer was yes so he had an excuse to butcher the man. The werebear might be strong, but he was also clearly bright enough to know not to pick a fight with a Dragonborn. 

“See you around, Red Wolf,” he laughed, turning and running. Cicero wiped his blades off on the snow and sheathed them, turning to Aela and casting Healing Hands on her. Wounds healed and mended and Aela slowly sat up, resting her head on her knees.

“Clothes? Gear?” she asked wearily. Cicero placed a healing potion down for her and ran off in search of her things. Ria winced as she sat up, not sure where anyone went from here. At least they were all still alive and she wasn't badly hurt. Cicero arrived back a few minutes later with all Aela's things and left her to get dressed. His eyes fell on Ria and he hesitated, suddenly nervous. Now that was weird, the same man who'd charging howling into battle a second ago intimidated by her. 

“Are you well?” he said softly, passing her a healing potion. She downed it and nodded.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I think you saved my life.”

Cicero smiled a little at that. “It was no bother. No one hurts a Dovah's loved ones.”

_No one hurts a Dovah's children,_ was what he clearly meant but did not say. Ria didn't see him like this often, the fool persona dropped for once and the man beneath on show. When he was like this... it was far easier to see just how capable he really was. Especially after what he'd done to those werebears.

“I'm apparently a Dovahkiin too, but I couldn't do that,” said Ria quietly. “I don't know anything, Cicero! I'm not ready!”

Cicero stepped forward and held out his hand to her. Ria took it and let herself be hauled to her feet.

“No,” said Cicero, his voice steady and calm and his lips curving into a smile. “But you will be, moni. Cicero will teach you every Thu'um he knows and then, Sil-Maar-Yah Kiir-se-Ziizahro, you will be strong.” His other hand reached up, fingers gently caressing her face and the look on his one of delight, pride and a fierce joy. “You will be a Dovah to be feared, moni.”

_I don't want to be feared!_ But a far greater part of her, something dark and terrible that was lurking in the back of her brain had other ideas.

“Teach me,” she whispered to him. Cicero's grin widened as he nodded.

“I will,” he promised. “Come.” 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Aela sat huddled on the snow, watching the open ocean. Behind her, Cicero was training Ria in the Thu'um, every word of power he knew, literally all of them, carving each one into the snow and patiently teaching Ria like, well, a father teaching his child to read, except this was in a way far more crucial than learning Tamrielic. 

“YOL TOOR SHUL!” Fire blasting over the snow, melting the glacier beneath. Awed silence, then squealing.

“Oh my GODS, I just breathed fire!!!!”

“YES, YES! You did, you did! Cicero is so proud of you, sweetling!”

Wonderful, now instead of one fire-breathing lunatic, she had two of them to cope with. At least Ria was mostly sane and fairly level-headed, but Cicero was notorious for being a terrible influence. Ria probably wasn't going to turn into a murderer any time soon, but there was such a thing as being too bloodthirsty.

Such as Torkild. Aela shivered at the memory. Why'd he intervene? Was she that fascinating? Really? Had he just not had a woman in a while? Maybe he was just insane, losing himself to the beast. But he'd turned on one of his own for her, probably saved her life. She had no idea how to feel about that. Given he'd done it so he could try and claim her as mate later, gratitude wasn't it. She didn't find him attractive, in fact she wished he'd leave her alone. All the same, she had to wonder what was going on with him. Werebears didn't seem to be solitary animals. Was he alone, did he have a pack? Were the ones he'd helped kill part of it? Solstheim didn't seem big enough to support two werebear packs. 

The whole thing worried her. She'd come here looking for family, but all she was finding was blood and savagery. She hadn't thought she was that put off by either, but she'd not forgotten she was human either. These werebears weren't even close. Even Eola could manage a veneer of civility – she was a king's daughter after all. There was none of that here. Aela was about ready to give up and go home. Once Miraak was dealt with, that would be it. No more trying to find another pack. Jorrvaskr was home, the Companions her family. She'd seek her kin amongst them, turn those that proved willing. None so far... but she wouldn't give up hope.

Finally, Cicero and Ria were done, approaching her, both smiling. Ria looked nervous still, but her face was flushed, and Cicero positively radiated pride. 

“Well, how did it go?” Aela asked, although she already knew the answer.

“Ria is learning so fast!” Cicero trilled. “Cicero is very proud.”

“There's so many,” Ria whispered. “All these words! Cicero, how do I know which one to use at any point?”

“Oh, do not worry, sweetling, Cicero doesn't use them all himself,” Cicero grinned. “You just need to try them out and soon you will find your favourites and use those. Cicero is particularly fond of Marked for Death and Fire Breath.”

“I'd noticed,” Ria said dryly. “I'm not you, though.”

“No, no, Ria is not,” Cicero sighed. “But Cicero loves you anyway.”

Ria still looked rather uncomfortable with the idea of Cicero being her kin, and Aela honestly couldn't blame her. But she did squeeze his hand and cuddle him back. The affection between them was undeniable and always had been.

“So what was the new word you learnt at Saering's Watch then?” In all the excitement, it was easy to forget they'd had a mission.

“Gol,” Ria said. “Means 'Earth'.”

“Cicero thinks it is the first word of Miraak's mind control Shout,” said Cicero, his smile fading. “Cicero is going to have to learn the other two somehow to defeat him, isn't he?”

“You don't want to?” Aela asked, surprised. Cicero always struck her as exactly the type to enjoy messing with people's heads for fun. To her surprise, he shook his head, pensive.

“Cicero doesn't want that sort of power!” Cicero cried. “What if... what if he misused it? I mean, on strangers, sure, or enemies. But... what if he became angry and used it on a Shield-Sibling? Or on a Sanctuary member? On sweet Eola? Or... or on the Listener?” His voice dropped to near inaudible on that last sentence.

“You wouldn't do that,” said Ria softly, rubbing his back. “I know you, Cicero, you've got some standards.”

“Cicero has broken the Tenets before,” Cicero whispered. 

“Because you thought you were doing the right thing,” Aela pointed out, having heard the true story of the Jester Dragonborn's adventures by this time. “When you know you're not? You wouldn't do it then. I've seen you with Delphine, Cicero, I know you love her.”

“I don't want to be stronger than her!” Cicero wailed. 

“You're Dragonborn!” Aela cried. “You're already stronger than most of us, her included!”

“This is different!” Cicero growled, kicking at the snow in frustration. “This is the power to force and compel, and Arngeir said when we learn Shouts, we take them into ourselves. Shouts to kill and fight with, or to make Cicero more stealthy, these are Shouts Cicero likes. A Shout to compel another, enslave another? Cicero is no slavemaster! Cicero does not want to be!”

“I'll learn it,” said Ria softly. “I already learned the first word, I'll learn the others instead of you – I'm young, I'm not as skilled as you, if I get carried away and turn into... into a monster like Miraak... you'll be strong enough to stop me.”

“No,” Cicero breathed, and then he was hugging Ria, crushing her in his arms. “No! Cicero isn't killing Ria, Cicero likes Ria, Cicero doesn't want her to die!”

“No one wants Ria to die,” said Aela, tugging at Cicero's arm so he'd loosen his grip. “But you'll only have to defeat Ria if she starts turning into a megalomaniac and abusing her powers, and if that starts happening, I'm sure we'll notice at Jorrvaskr before it gets to that stage.”

“I don't think it's gonna happen, Cicero,” said Ria gently, stroking Cicero's hair. “I'm not ambitious, not really.”

“Like me,” Cicero whispered, snuggling into her. “Bless you, sweet child, you are very kind-hearted to help poor Cicero so. Cicero just wishes you did not have to.”

“I want to,” said Ria firmly. “Or rather, I don't like seeing you upset. It's sad. You're much better when you're cheerful, even if you're usually talking about stabbing.”

That did get a grin from Cicero, who let go of Ria and began skipping about, singing yet another one of his many little ditties about blood and murder. Aela actually felt relieved. It felt wrong somehow to not have Cicero fearless and excited about the job in question. The capering and singing were much more reassuring. Time to get back to the Skaal Village. They had a job to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think some of you saw this one coming - hope it wasn't too cliched. Cicero is going to need a little help with this one, so why not get him a Dragonborn who's on his side? Plus it means Kodlak gets a grandchild and if anyone deserves one, it's him.
> 
> Moni - my daughter. Sil-Maar-Yah - Soul-Terror-Seek, so Terrifying Seeker of (dragon) Souls. (Or possibly Seeker of Terrifying Souls, which Ria would argue is a little more accurate.)


	14. Guilds Past and Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ria and Cicero are still adapting to the revelations about Ria, but they are professionals to the last and still have a job to do. Meanwhile back in Raven Rock, Calixto's distracted by a new arrival and the discovery of what Aranea was up to before Miraak's spell, but the distraction could prove costlier than he'd imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine you probably thought I'd abandoned this one, didn't you? Not a chance, I just took a bit of time off to write Nightshade and Juniper, that's all. But as that one's nearly finished, I thought I should revive Reclamations. So here is the next chapter.

The Wind Stone loomed above them, scaffolding only detracting a little from it as the enslaved Skaal hammered away.

 

“ _Here in my shrine... that you have forgotten... here do you toil... that you might remember...”_

 

Every time Ria saw one of these stones, heard the chanting, it didn't get any less creepy. More so in fact. But at least they now had the means to do something about it. She hoped.

 

“So what do we do?” Ria asked, fingering her Akaviri sword. “Just shout the word at the stone and see what happens?”

 

“It seems a bit too easy,” Aela said, looking up at the Wind Stone's twisted form pensively. “All the same, we lose nothing by trying. Which of you is going to do the honours?”

 

Ria looked at Cicero. Cicero just smiled back, bowed and waved her forward.

 

“Ria must learn! Ria must practice! Now sweetling, just take a deep breath, feel the word within yourself, project it into a Thu'um, that's right, DEEP BREATH and...!”

 

“GOL!” Ria Shouted, trying to feel the word, feel the solid earth under her and in her, solid unbreaking will that could contest anything and would not be moved... and Voice hit Stone. The sickly green light faded, the scaffolding began to crack, some new power, a cleaner power, came surging through the Stone, and the Skaal lowered their tools, all looking about them in surprise.

 

“Yes, sweetling, yes, it is working!” Cicero cried, dancing around at the water's edge as the stone frame built around the stone began to crumble. “Look, look, the Stone is free, look!”

 

The ground shook and the framework exploded, stone flying everywhere. Ria ducked, clinging on to Cicero as he squealed and howled with delight. Aela was crouched behind her, using the Dragonborns as a shelter. Which was not terribly honourable, even if Ria and Cicero were wearing more substantial armour than Aela was. But Ria didn't have time to think about that, as the water boiled and the screaming started.

 

“Ria, look out!” Aela cried, reaching for her bow. Before Ria could react, something smacked into her, and she was in pain, pain beyond imagining, her skin on fire.

 

“FUS RO DAH!”

 

Aela was grabbing her arm, helping her up, hauling her away, black gunk dripping from her armour as she started to shake from whatever poison was sinking into her veins.

 

“What – what is that?” Ria gasped as she turned to where some... some _thing_ had burst from the water surrounding the Stone. Humanoid but with webbing and a head like some daedra fish, and spitting poison, black residue that grew tentacles where it landed.

 

“Drink,” said Aela tersely, shoving poison cures and poison resistors and a healing potion into her hands before reaching for her bow. Ria drank, but there was only one thing that concerned her right now. Where was Cicero?

 

He was drinking a few potions himself, Dragonbane in his free hand as he glared down at where the thing was pulling itself to its feet.

 

“Cicero doesn't think so, Lurker!” Cicero snarled, reaching for the Sanguine Rose. “You do not hurt the loved ones of a Dovah!”

 

“I SMELL WEAKNESS!” the Dremora howled as it materialised into being. Cicero giggled, knocking back the last of the large red healing potion and leaping back, unshouldering his bow as he dodged another blast of poison and began to fire arrows.

 

“Now this is how you fight a Lurker, moni!” he called to Ria. “Shout at it and shoot it while someone else _distracts it!_ ”

 

Some of the Skaal had also got in on the act, hacking at the thing with their axes. Ria shook herself down, feeling the pain recede. She had no idea what the thing was or where it had come from, but she knew one thing. It wasn't going anywhere else and damned if she was letting her father kill the thing for her. Companions did their own fighting.

 

“FOR JORRVASKR!” she shouted, racing into the fray, shield raised and sword in hand. Cicero turned, confused and then horrified.

 

“Wha- RIA!” he shouted. “Meyyah kiir, GET BACK HERE – oh for Sithis' sake!”

 

Ria swept her Akaviri blade into the Lurker's side, and took a deep breath. Time to fight like a Dragonborn.

 

“SU GRAH DUN!”

 

Power flowed into her arms and she exchanged her shield for her Skyforge blade. Screaming, she carved into the Lurker, dragon-fuelled rage driving her strikes while Cicero and Aela's arrows thudded into it. She felt the thing's tentacles smack into her, but the pain felt less than before somehow. Black ichor spurted out as her blades cut in, and Cicero by this time had put his bow away and had sprung forward himself, shrieking as his own swords flung into action.

 

Against one Dremora, one Companion in Blades armour and one shrieking, furious Jester Dragonborn, the Lurker didn't stand a chance. It died... but Ria didn't have long to recover before she had a bigger problem on her hands.

 

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING??” Cicero shrieked, sheathing his blades and turning on her, grabbing her shoulders. “Cicero had this in hand. RIA DID NOT NEED TO GET INVOLVED!”

 

“ALL RIGHT, THAT IS IT!” Aela shouted, arrow pointed at Cicero for the second time that day. “You will LEAVE RIA ALONE!”

 

“RIA WILL GET HERSELF KILLED!” Cicero howled, and then he'd flung his arms around her, clinging on to her with his head on her shoulder. To Ria's surprise, he was shaking all over.

 

“Cicero,” Ria whispered, motioning for Aela to lower her weapons with one hand while she hugged Cicero with the other. “Cicero, it's all right, I'm a Companion, it's what I do. You don't need to worry!”

 

“I do, I do!” Cicero wailed. “Of course Cicero worries. Cicero ALWAYS worries! He worries about Eola, about Delphine, about Kodlak, about all his friends and loved ones! They all say they can look after themselves and not to worry, but Cicero still does! Mama... Mama said not to worry, she'd be back soon, before she went out to fight the Thalmor! But she never did... she never did and Cicero had to find her... she'd been lying in the street for days...”

 

He clung on to her, face hidden on her shoulder and Ria realised he was sniffling quietly.

 

“Oh honey,” Ria whispered. “Cicero, don't cry. It's OK. I'm not dead. I'm not even hurt, Aela gave me a poison resistance potion among all the others, look.”

 

Cicero just sobbed harder. Ria hugged him to her, and looked up at Aela who'd arrived and started rubbing his back.

 

“Cicero,” said Aela softly. “Cicero, Ria's fine, the thing is dead. You don't need to worry.”

 

Cicero sniffled and let Ria go. “Cicero knows but Cicero still does,” Cicero whispered faintly. He looked at Ria, glaring at her. “Ria is not allowed to die. Cicero will not have it! Cicero... Cicero would miss her...”

 

“I'd miss you too,” said Ria gently. “Come on, let's get back to the Skaal village. We should check in with Frea and Storn, see what else they can tell us.”

 

Cicero nodded, wiping his eyes as he trailed after them both. They did have a job to do, and they did now know how to free Vilkas and Aranea. He just wished his newly-discovered child didn't have to be involved. He'd send her home if he could... but he knew she'd never go. She was too much his kin for that – no. Too much his mother's kin. Stelmaria would never have backed down from a fight either. It had killed her in the end. Cicero had no intention of letting Ria go the same way.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The Skaal Village looked like a different place when they returned to it. The shield gone, the place looking bright and open, filled with villagers talking to each other, trying to figure out what had just happened. After inquiring where Frea and Storn had gone, they were pointed in the direction of a small house on the edge of the village.

 

Frea answered the door and promptly hugged all three of them in turn, including a very surprised Cicero.

 

“You did it,” she breathed. “You did it! You freed my people! Come in, come in, my father wants to talk to you!”

 

Ria stepped in, Cicero bouncing in behind her and Aela bringing up the rear. Inside, Storn was lying down on a single bed in the back room, clearly looking exhausted.

 

“So it is done,” he said, faint smile on his face as he sat up. “Welcome back, Dovahkiin. I had a feeling you would manage it.”

 

“We did, we did!” Cicero squealed, sitting on the earthen floor with his legs crossed in one fluid movement. “And now kind Storn will tell us how to defeat Miraak, hmm?”

 

“I did not promise you that,” Storn sighed. “Only that I could tell you more if you helped us. Well, you have done that so I will tell you what I can. Do you know the story of Saering's Watch?”

 

Shake of the head from all three. Ria had slowly lowered herself to sit next to Cicero, her Blades gear clanking and really how did Cicero manage to make this look so effortless?

 

“No, why would you, it is not a well-known tale even here,” said Storn. “But I will tell it to you. The ruin dates back to when Miraak was still a loyal dragon priest, Solstheim's ruler, well-respected and known to be Dragonborn by that point. However, he did not rule alone. He had a consort. Younger than him, a talented warrior in the Dragon Cult, beautiful long red hair and dark eyes, unusual for a Nord. A handsome young man called Saering.”

 

Cicero had gone very still as Storn had spoken, and Ria couldn't help but glance at him. Red hair and dark eyes – had Saering looked like Cicero?

 

“What happened to him?” Cicero whispered, drawing his knees up to his chest, eyes wide.

 

“The tale isn't clear,” said Storn sombrely. “There are several versions but all agree that Saering and Miraak were deeply in love, that Miraak adored Saering, had fine armour and weapons crafted for him, ensured he had the best warriors on the island guarding him, spoiled him with gifts, spent many long hours with him, holding his hand and staring into his eyes. Then something happened. Some say it was an accident, that Saering got in the way of a Shout. Others that becoming Dragonborn changed Miraak somehow and he started to see Saering less as a human to be loved and more as a possession, and Saering tried to leave. Some even say Saering was unfaithful, had a woman on the side, perhaps even a child, and was trying to flee Solstheim with them when it happened. But all the versions agree that Saering died in Miraak's arms and Miraak was never the same again. So he built Saering's Watch as a shrine to his lost love, at the spot where they used to walk together and watch the sea and the stars, and laid Saering to rest there. And his followers raised up a new Word Wall in his memory, and it is said that from that wall, Miraak beheld a new Thu'um, one he'd never seen before. One that gave him power over the earth itself, over the All-Maker Stones even, and he knew instinctively that if he knew the other two words of the Shout, he could command even the dragons. For one who had just lost his lover, who had tried and failed to compel the one he loved not to go, the power was too much to resist. He tried to find the other words but failed... until he turned to Herma-Mora for help. I believe you know the rest.”

 

“A Black Book,” Cicero whispered. “Miraak had a Black Book in his Temple, it took poor wretched Cicero to Mora's realm, Miraak was there!”

 

“Aye, I imagine it did,” said Storn softly. “Do you have it still? Let me see it.”

 

Cicero dug into his pack, producing the hateful thing and holding it out to Storn. The room seemed to darken as he did and Storn backed away, visibly repulsed.

 

“I have seen enough. Put it away, Dragonborn. As I thought, Miraak found a Black Book, probably more than one, and travelled to Apocrypha to learn from Mora himself. Meaning you will have to do the same.”

 

Cicero let out a sob as he packed the book away. He put a hand to his face, visibly shaking, and Ria drew nearer, hating seeing him like this. He just looked so vulnerable and unhappy, and Ria wasn't even sure what to do, only that regardless of any blood tie, he was her friend and she cared about him.

 

“What do we do?” she said, drawing Cicero into her arms. “He's not... he's not the only Dragonborn. We found out that so am I. I can learn Shouts too, I can take dragon souls, I can go to Apocrypha and learn what Miraak did. It doesn't have to be Cicero. I'm not scared – well, all right, I am scared but not like Cicero is.”

 

“Because you have not been there. You have not seen – you do not know – he is terrifying!” Cicero wailed, face screwed up in pain. “Moni, you can't, you mustn't!”

 

“We're going to,” said Ria firmly. “Storn, what do you know about the Black Books?”

 

“Very little, other than that they are evil things and this path... perilous,” said Storn, his eyes sympathetic. “But I know how you can find out more. This is not the first Black Book I have seen. A while back, I had a visitor who brought one with him and wished to know if I had seen any others. The Dark Elf sorcerer, Neloth of Tel Mithryn.”

 

“Neloth,” said Aela, looking as if she could cry or possibly punch something. “The Telvanni wizard, Neloth.”

 

“I think he was from House Telvanni, yes. Why, do you know him?” Storn asked. All three nodded. Ria had had to chase after Cicero so hadn't seen as much of him as Aela had, but she'd seen enough to not be surprised the man had a Black Book in his possession.

 

“So we need to talk to him,” said Ria, feeling a bit dubious about this but not seeing any other options. “If he'll help, that is.”

 

“Help?” Aela snorted. “When we spoke to him, he said he had no intention of getting involved as he 'wanted to see how it ended'. He said sorting it out was our job.”

 

That must have been the bit Ria had missed. She had to admit it didn't sound promising, but Cicero had cheered right up.

 

“Oh do not worry, Shield-Sister, Neloth will certainly help. Or he will find that he will be seeing an ending sooner than he would wish.” Cicero was rubbing his hands, demented grin in place at the idea of chaining the Dunmer up and torturing the information out of him.

 

“We'll talk to him,” Ria promised. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”

 

“Not about Black Books, no,” Storn sighed. “But there is something else you can do. You freed one Stone and the land already feels healthier. There are five others. The Tree Stone is in Miraak's old temple – you will not be able to free it while Miraak remains undefeated. But the other four, the Beast, Water, Earth and Sun Stones, those you could free. Each one restored, each one cleaned, will heal the land and help restore the oneness, make it harder for Miraak to return. Will you do that for me, cleanse the other Stones?”

 

Given that cleansing the Wind Stone had resulted in that horrific thing, that Lurker, emerging and trying to kill them, Ria wasn't so sure she wanted to. But they had to cleanse the Earth Stone anyway, they might as well do the others too.

 

“We'll do it,” Ria said firmly. “Won't we, Cicero?”

 

“Oh yes,” Cicero said cheerfully. “We will do what we must.”

 

“I hope so, Dragonborn. Dragonborns, I should say.” Storn looked them both over, impressed. “For there to be two such, here at the same time Miraak is trying to come back – this is a sign from the All-Maker indeed. Are you kin?”

 

Ria wasn't sure she was quite ready to admit it out loud just yet, but Cicero had no such inhibition.

 

“Yes, yes, sweet Ria is indeed kin to proud Cicero, yes!” he babbled, squeezing her hand. “Cicero is honoured to be related to lovely Ria and very proud of her.”

 

Despite herself, Ria blushed. She still had no idea how to feel about Cicero being her father, but he was definitely trying and the affection was real enough. So she squeezed his hand too and let him hug her. She could figure it out properly later.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Days since Cicero and the others had left Raven Rock for Miraak's temple. Calixto had lost count of how many, they all seemed to blur in to one after a while. Thank Sithis for Milore, she'd brought him potions to keep him awake, taken shifts herself so he could have a break, helped keep him sane while he watched.

 

No change in Aranea or Vilkas, just the constant chanting and the work and he could see Aranea tiring already. It was all right for Vilkas, he was a well-muscled warrior with a trained body. Not so Aranea, a mage and priestess more concerned with soul and spirit than the physical plane. She was healthy enough, but Calixto could see torn fingernails, cuts on her hands, and this would kill her. No sleep, no rest, just unceasing toil wearing his Aranea down. _Hurry up, Cicero. I can heal almost anything but I can't bring the dead back. Gods know I spent enough time trying._

 

Movement over by the docks, and Calixto had to rub his eyes to make sure he wasn't dreaming. A boat, it was a boat, and not just any boat. The Northern Maiden was back. Whatever mission Aranea had sent Gjalund Sea-Sage on, he was back. With a passenger from the looks of it. A Nord, female passenger in grey leather armour and with dark hair, currently being interrogated by Adril Arano. She was carrying what looked like a strongbox in her arms, and Calixto knew her even from over the bay.

 

Tired brain deciding the risk was worth it for acquiring another ally, and quite apart from that, she needed warning before she ended up hacking away at the Earth Stone too, Calixto raced off for the harbour, darting past Crescius Caerellius and Mirri Severin on the way and arriving at the end of the jetty just as Adril and Sapphire emerged on to dry land.

 

“Sapphire!” Calixto gasped. “Thank the gods. What are you doing here, did Aranea send you?”

 

“So you do know each other,” said Adril, nodding in approval. “She said she'd brought a special delivery for Madam Ienith, to be given to her or Elder Othreloth at the Temple. Do you know anything about it?”

 

Calixto glanced at Sapphire, whose face remained impassive, which probably meant this was not only important but not to be shared with outsiders.

 

“Of course!” Calixto laughed. “Aranea told me she was expecting a parcel of special ingredients, and Sapphire and I are old friends. Good to see you, my dear, shall we...?”

 

Adril, clearly mollified on seeing they knew each other, bowed and swept off, looking thoughtful. Calixto waited until he was out of earshot before beckoning Sapphire off for a slightly more private conversation.

 

“Sapphire, what happened?” For Sapphire to leave Windhelm Sanctuary without any real leaders, it must be important. He could only assume she'd sent both the new recruits out on jobs.

 

“I was hoping you could tell me!” Sapphire hissed. “You're gone barely three days then Shahvee's in the New Gnisis looking terrified but telling me there's a Nord sailor on the docks with an urgent message for me. Turns out Aranea needs the entire ingredients for a Night Mother shrine in a hurry and she needs it yesterday. What in Oblivion is going on, Cal?”

 

“I – have no idea. A Night Mother shrine? In there?” he asked, eyeing the strongbox.

 

“Ingredients for one, yeah,” Sapphire nodded. “I heisted the rubies, bought the ingots off Oengil War-Anvil and the rest was all lying around in your workroom.”

 

“My... workroom – you've got one of my soul gems in there?? I had a valuable experiment going on with those!” Wonderful, he'd have to start all over again now. He'd been trying to see whether souls in a soul gem were aware of the outside world, and if the way the gems were spoken to had any affect on the strength of the eventual enchantment. He'd have to start all over again now...

 

“Look, I'm just the messenger girl,” Sapphire sighed. “Take it up with the boss lady if you've got a problem. Now where is she anyway? Is there an inn in town? Or cornerclub, or whatever they call them in Morrowind?”

 

“Yes, but... oh hang it, Sapphire, things aren't going well,” Calixto sighed, trying not to think of Aranea up there and really not looking forward to having to break the news of her condition to Sapphire. She was already looking a bit pained.

 

“Cicero's not got himself arrested, has he? What did he do? As if I can't guess.”

 

“No, Cicero's fine, at least I think he is, he's gone off in to the interior to investigate Miraak, I've not seen him for three days. No, it's... did you sleep on the boat?”

 

“For some value of sleep, yeah,” said Sapphire, frowning. “Why?”

 

“Thank the gods,” Calixto sighed. At least one of them was relatively well rested then. “Come on, let's get your package delivered to this Elder Othreloth and then I'll tell you everything.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Elder Othreloth had proved very pleased and relieved to hear they were friends of Aranea's and even more so to learn they had everything needed to build a replacement shrine to Mephala. Calixto had just about managed to keep a straight face as Othreloth had explained the tragedy that had befallen the Dunmer people over the summer as all the shrines to Mephala had stopped working – apparently it was worse on the mainland as temples had closed, shrines had been quietly removed and the Great Houses doing their best to keep order and reassure a terrified populace. Othreloth had only kept order here by ensuring no one outside the Temple itself and Councilor Morvayn's household knew about the problem. Sapphire had looked stunned but managed to keep her composure as she heard Aranea's communion with Azura had resulted in receiving a set of instructions to make a new shrine to Mephala, who was now to be known also as the Mother of the Night.

 

“Mother of the – right,” said Sapphire faintly. “Well, we've got everything and can get this built, but you'll need a smith to do it. Ideally a good one who's discreet and won't ask questions. Got one of those in town? Aranea had trouble finding anyone in Windhelm, we had to send the gear out to the Reach to get ours built – we've got a friend with contacts there who found us an arcane smith in the Forsworn who could do the job.”

 

“I'm not sure we have the time for that – the Temple certainly doesn't have the funds,” Othreloth sighed. “The Reach is a long way from Solstheim, and from what I hear, anything complicated requiring knowledge of Reach-magic needs personal authorisation from the King. I can only imagine how long it would take to jump through all those hoops. No, we'll need to make do with what we have. The smith in town, Glover Mallory, he's known to be discreet. We'll have to ask him – if he can't do it, we may have to send word to the Skaal. If they can smith Stalhrim, they can make one of these.”

 

“Sorry, did you say Glover Mallory?” Sapphire interrupted, eyes lighting up. “As in Glover Mallory of Riften?”

 

“I think that's where he lived before, yes,” said Othreloth. “Why, do you know him?”

 

“Know him?” Sapphire laughed. “Guy was like a mentor to me back when I lived there. Kept an eye out for me, trained me, we were like buddies. Then one day he just upped and left. Didn't even say goodbye or where he was going. He didn't even tell his brother Delvin why, just told him to keep an eye on me. That was, what, four years ago now? And he's been here all this time? Wow. Don't worry, Elder. I'll go talk to him. If he can do it, he will, and you don't need to worry about him asking questions. He knows when to keep his mouth shut.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Glover!”

 

Glover Mallory looked up from his forge, feeling his heart almost stop as he recognised the voice. No... it couldn't be... not after all these years. Not here, not in Raven Rock.

 

“Sapphire?” he whispered, looking up. Sure enough it was her, in the armour he'd made for her when she first joined the Guild, his own special Blackguard version of Guild leathers, a little welcome present.

 

“Glover! It is you!” she laughed. She had a strongbox under her arm, which she placed by his forge, and reached out for a hug.

 

“Sapphire,” he gasped, embracing her, his daughter, his little girl although she had no idea and he didn't think he'd ever get up the nerve to tell her. She was the reason he'd left Riften – he couldn't see her around the Cistern every day and live with the guilt over abandoning her mother. “What are you even doing here? Did Delvin send you?”

 

“No, I – I'm not working for the Guild any more, well, not full-time anyway, I do the odd job for them, fence a few things to them, but I'm not... Glover, this is Calixto, he's a friend of mine.”

 

“We've met,” said Glover, letting Sapphire go as he took in Calixto, dressed like a trader but with those damn Shrouded boots and if ever a man's eyes screamed 'murderer' it was this man. By Dibella, she'd joined the Brotherhood. Always a temptation for any skilled thief when pickings were slim, if they had the nerve to kill. Glover could fight well enough and while he'd killed a few people, he wasn't a cold-blooded murderer. To think of his daughter joining up...

 

“Are things that bad?” he asked her. “In the Guild? Were you so desperate for coin you turned to... them?”

 

Sapphire's face hardened as she glared at him. “I won't lie, the Guild's not doing well... but the coin's not why I changed careers, Glover. Well, not the only reason anyway. There's new management over at the Brotherhood. The family's got a new head. She's so much better than the old one and she was willing to give me a chance. So I went back to my old job.” She just looked at him through those dark lashes of hers, face calm as she let that sink in. Old job – she didn't leave the Guild to take up assassination, she'd left the Brotherhood to take up thieving. _Oh Sapphire._ Blood on her hands before he'd even met her – she was twenty three when she'd joined the Guild, five years ago now. Had she escaped the bandits, killed to survive and been recruited by them? Or had the bandits that killed her family and wiped out her village been her first trainers in the arts of brutality? He didn't know, but what he did know was that however much her being an assassin hurt, it hurt all the more because if he'd stayed, he might have been able to prevent it.

 

“I see,” said Glover, looking away. “Well, if it's what you want – the Guild and Brotherhood still have that non-aggression pact going, don't they?”

 

“We do,” said Sapphire, smile flickering on her lips. “Can't say we're likely to get a lot of business out here anyway.”

 

“No, probably not,” said Glover, thinking of people likely to have the funds and motive to hire the Brotherhood in Raven Rock, and drawing a blank. The list of potential targets – in theory, anyone, but there weren't many people likely to have wealthy and powerful enemies. “So what does bring you to Solstheim anyway? I can't believe it was just to see me.”

 

“Oh! Well, we've got a job needs doing. A job involving discretion and not asking too many questions. Not that sort of job,” she added hastily. “No, I need some crafting doing. It's for the Temple.”

 

“For the Temple??” Now Glover was completely confused. The Temple needed something making on the quiet, and the Dark Brotherhood were involved? Glover had no idea, not unless the Temple of the Reclamations was launching some sort of Inquisition and needed a torture chamber building. Grim work, but not his to ask questions, right? “What do you need?”

 

Sapphire opened the box and handed the design and schematics over. “A new shrine,” she whispered. “To... Mephala. The old one stopped working, you see. We're helping replace it – one of us is an old friend of Othreloth's and a former priestess of Azura. She was given these instructions on what to do.”

 

Extract of nightshade mixed in to molten ebony, then the whole thing moulded around a human skull with a filled black soul gem inserted in the cavity, then two flawless rubies in the eye sockets, and a hand print moulded into the forehead with daedra heart essence used to stain it. Tricky, but not impossible, and to be done at night.

 

“You got all the gear?” he asked, nudging the box, about the right size to hold a skull, never mind all the other things. Grisly but doable. No wonder they wanted someone discreet.

 

Sapphire nodded. “Can you do it?” she asked. “Soon? I'll pay you for your trouble, of course.”

 

“Yeah, no problem, leave it with me,” said Glover. Now for the haggling. “I was thinking about...”

 

“Here,” said Sapphire, retrieving a large coin purse from her pack. “This'll be enough, right?”

 

Glover reached out and steadied himself as he nearly dropped the gold. There must be nearly five hundred septims in here.

 

“It'll be fine,” Glover managed to get out. Dear gods, she'd clearly overpaid him, this job must be important. “Are you collecting it, or should I take it to the Temple when it's done?”

 

“Deliver it to Elder Othreloth personally. Don't trust anyone else, unless it's me or Cal here, or Aranea Ienith,” Sapphire told him. Glover promised he wouldn't say a word. He knew what the handprint meant from talking to Delvin about the Brotherhood, he knew this was likely some totem to whatever dark deity they followed. What the Temple wanted with one, he had no idea, but he knew when not to ask questions. Stashing Sapphire's supplies and gold away for safekeeping, he bade her goodbye and left her and her colleague to it.

 

“See, told you he'd be able to help,” said Sapphire cheerfully as she and Calixto stepped out into the market square. “Now, where's Aranea? What's she been up to, other than swindling an entire religion obviously?”

 

Calixto steeled himself to answer this one, really not wanting to talk about it but knowing he'd postponed matters long enough.

 

“Cal?” asked Sapphire, her smile fading as she noticed the look on his face. “Honey? Where is she? What happened?”

 

Before Calixto could answer, there was the sound of someone Shouting, a woman from the sound of it but that surely couldn't be right, how many women on Solstheim knew the Thu'um? It sounded like “GOL!” but neither Calixto nor Sapphire had the chance to think about it for long before the sound of a huge explosion rocked both air and ground, and then the sound of some horrible roar from some indescribable atrocity. Sapphire turned round, stunned and scratching her head in confusion, but Calixto knew what it was. He'd heard it before, and from the sound of things, there was not one, but two of the beasts. Lurkers, up by the Earth Stone.

 

“By the gods. Aranea's up there!” he cried, drawing his blades. That galvanised Sapphire into motion. Drawing two Akaviri blades that she'd claimed from Sky Haven Temple before she left, Sapphire turned and sprinted up the slope, Calixto and half the Redoran Guard following behind.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Vilkas shook his head, confused. How'd he get here? Hadn't he been in bed? Why did he feel quite so groggy and achy? Why was he... why was he fully dressed??

 

All good questions, but the wave of water smacking into him from two... things bursting up from the pool surrounding the Earth Stone woke him up, and Vilkas grabbed his greatsword with a yell. Instinct kicked in as he began swinging out at the thing nearest him.

 

“MUL QAH!” he heard Cicero howl, and he didn't recognise that one, some new Shout perhaps? Then the sight of a glowing figure summoning a Dremora using some staff he had and firing off arrows into the other abomination. The Redoran Guard were also arriving by now, arrows and Destruction magic firing through the air, and a young woman in what looked a bit like Thieves Guild armour firing a few shots of her own. Come to think of it, he knew her, that was the assassin that had seen them off at Windhelm, Aranea's lady friend. No time to wonder how she'd got here, he had more pressing concerns, such as the black ichor the thing had just spat at him and the tentacles writhing up his armour. Vilkas hissed in pain from the poison leaching into him, just thankful beast blood granted some measure of resistance to it. Then tentacles curled around his axe and sent the Skyforge weapon flying from hands, and really where was his grip, why did he feel so damn tired?

 

“MUL QAH!” someone else Shouted and that wasn't Cicero, wasn't even male. The Lurker turned and then Vilkas heard another Shout.

 

“YOL TOOR SHUL!” and the Lurker was engulfed in flames, howling in pain. It turned on the glowing figure behind it. Cicero again?

 

No. Not Cicero, because he'd left the Dremora, the Redoran Guard and that Imperial friend of his, Calixto, dealing with the other Lurker and splashed his way over, golden Dragon covering him. In his hands was a greatsword, a red one glowing with some sort of magic Vilkas had never seen before.

 

“Vilkas, Vilkas!” Cicero squealed, holding it out to him. “For you, for you!”

 

Vilkas wasn't sure what to make of it, only that he must have found it in a tomb somewhere and probably wasn't any good with it himself – well, he knew that, he'd seen Cicero try to use two-handed weapons at Jorrvaskr and not laughed so hard in a long time. But given his Skyforge greatsword was presently lying on the other side of the stone and his ebony battleaxe was probably back at the Retching Netch, he didn't have a lot of choice. He took the blade and charged back in to the fray while Cicero resumed shooting.

 

He'd not expected the energy beam. It swept into the Lurker, making it shriek, and the glowing woman, he could see it was a woman now, leapt out of the way before darting back in, her own sword carving into the Lurker. He couldn't see her clearly, didn't know who she was but she certainly had technique. She'd clearly learned from the best. Together they danced around the monster, carving into it until finally it howled its last and collapsed to the floor.

 

Vilkas let it go and stared at the greatsword Cicero had given him. The man himself had hopped to his side and was grinning up at him.

 

“Does Vilkas like his shiny shiny new blade?” Cicero purred. “Cicero found it at the bottom of Raven Rock mine and thought it should go to someone who could use it. Aren't the beams pretty?”

 

“They're beautiful,” Vilkas whispered, before recollecting himself. “I mean, er, this is clearly a very dangerous weapon. Could be lethal in the wrong hands. Probably best if I keep it safe. Make sure no one unsuitable gets their hands on it.” Not that he held with magical weapons, not at all, the very idea was cheating at best and rather unethical considering most required souls to power them. Still, he had it now and clearly he'd need to look after it, make sure no one misused it.

 

“Yes Vilkas,” Cicero purred, smirk widening. “Of course, of course, it is a matter of duty and honour, and Vilkas was not enjoying blasting that Lurker with it, not at all.” He patted Vilkas on the arm, the golden glow fading. “Cicero understands.”

 

“Vilkas!” Vilkas barely had time to look up before Ria sprinted through the pool, golden light flickering out, and had that been her, fighting that Lurker with him? Surely not, when had she learnt to Shout? _How_ had she learnt to Shout?

 

She collided with him, arms around him, holding him tight, as if she'd been worried about him, and that was rather unusual. Ria normally acted as if she didn't need him, didn't even care about him, although sometimes she had her caring moments. She was never normally this affectionate though, and though he worried constantly about her, the reverse was unheard of. Yet here she was holding on to him as if she'd been afraid she'd lost him... and it was nice. It was very nice indeed to have someone holding him like this, taking care of him – it didn't happen very often and probably wasn't going to happen again. So he made the most of it, hugging Ria right back.

 

“What happened?” he asked, surveying the rest of the scene, rubble everywhere, ichor everywhere, tentacles still writhing on their own, two dead Lurkers lying on the ground, Redoran Guards scratching their heads, and Cicero scampering over to where Aela, Calixto and Sapphire were having an animated conversation.

 

“It's a long story,” Ria whispered, head resting on his shoulder. “But you're all right. You're all right, thank the Eight, I was so worried...”

 

“How did I get here?” Vilkas asked, still a little hazy on that point. The last thing he remembered was going to sleep at the Netch.

 

“Miraak was mind-controlling the entire island to build shrines around these Stones so he could use their power to come back,” Ria told him, shivering. “We had to track down a Word Wall that gave us a Shout to break the spell. You and Aranea were under the spell for days.”

 

“What??” Days? Vilkas could barely believe it, and yet that would explain why every muscle ached, every sinew raw. “How? And how did the rest of you not fall under it?”

 

“Aela got warned by the werewolves that live here,” Ria explained. “So she just stayed awake. It's falling asleep that's the trigger. She found Calixto and Cicero before they went to bed and warned them. You, me, Aranea, we were all under it, at least until Cicero woke me up.”

 

“And he didn't do the same for us?” Vilkas demanded. Ria shook her head sadly.

 

“He tried. The two of you tried to kill him. It's... complicated. Come on, let's go find the others. I'd rather tell you all together.”

 

The little group of four seemed to have broken up, with Calixto in particular scouring the area, running to every motionless body, turning it over and moving panicked on to the next.

 

“Aranea!” he cried, even as Sapphire ran to grab his arm, pleading with him to stop. “ARANEA!”

 

“What's up?” Vilkas asked Aela, who was looking grim, although not as grim as Cicero, who was staring at his fellow assassins with despair in his eyes.

 

“Aranea,” said Aela softly. “She was under the spell with you, Calixto says she's been here all this time, was here when the boat with Sapphire on it arrived... then he went off to see why Sapphire was here and now Aranea's not anywhere.”

 

“But... where would she go?” Ria asked, surprised. “Aranea wouldn't have gone far, she'd have retreated back and started firing magic at those Lurkers.”

 

There had been magic used, Vilkas recalled, but the Redoran Guard probably knew how to use it. He'd seen firebolts, ice spikes, lightning – but all apprentice level things. Not the walls of lightning or the fireballs he'd been told Aranea liked to fling around – the only fireball he'd seen cast had been one lobbed by Calixto.

 

“I don't think she was fighting,” said Vilkas, his heart sinking. Cicero looked up at his words, nodding in agreement, and that was death in his eyes, death for anyone who'd hurt his Dark Sister.

 

“She was not here,” Cicero growled. “Cicero did not see her when he arrived, only Vilkas and some guardsmen. He thought Calixto had managed to get her away to a safe place and keep her prisoner if he could not rouse her. But he has not, he left her here... and now she is gone. Someone has _taken_ my sister.”

 

Taken Aranea? But why? What would anyone want with Aranea? Any number of things, none of them good.

 

“Who?” Ria whispered. “Do you think it was Miraak?” Cicero shook his head, arms folded as he gazed off into the distance.

 

“No,” Cicero growled. “Else he would have taken Vilkas too. But Cicero is remembering what Aranea told him when she first met him. It happened many human lifetimes ago, but Morrowind is an elven land, and elves have long memories.” He looked up and Ria flinched back, nestling closer to Vilkas. He put his arms protectively around her, not liking the look on Cicero's face.

 

“Aranea had enemies in Morrowind? Who?” Vilkas asked, wondering why no one had bothered to tell him this before.

 

Cicero gritted his teeth and spat out one phrase, two words that chilled the blood of them all.

 

“ _Morag Tong!_ ” With not another glance at them, he strode off to join his fellow assassins, leaving three Companions wondering what they'd just signed up for.

 

“Morag Tong? What's that?” Ria whispered. Vilkas closed his eyes, remembering what he'd read about them over the summer while he'd made a point of chasing down every scrap of information on the Brotherhood he could find.

 

“A guild of assassins that used to operate all over Tamriel – still do in Morrowind from the sounds of it,” said Vilkas sombrely. “The Dark Brotherhood split off from them, apparently they used to be bitter enemies. I imagine that hasn't changed.”

 

“And they've taken Aranea,” said Aela quietly. “Well. Don't imagine we'll see her again. A shame. She was all right, for a Dark Brotherhood assassin.”

 

“Oh,” Ria whispered, hand to her mouth. Vilkas held on to her, not sure what to say to comfort her. Truth be told, there wasn't a lot he could say. But Aranea was Brotherhood and one thing he did know, they looked after their own. Even Kodlak had put his foot down with regards to taking on the Brotherhood, rightly pointing out they had no idea where the assassins had their headquarters, it would be suicide to take them on. Now the Tong had decided to do just that, and the Dark Brotherhood's single most dangerous assassin was here to take revenge. If anyone could find Aranea, it would be Cicero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Miraak backstory actually made me sniffle a bit. I feel a bit sorry for him, even if he did mistreat Saering, who tried to run and got killed by Miraak in a fit of rage (Miraak didn't even intend to, he just lost his temper and Fus Ro Dah'ed off a balcony and Saering died from it). Miraak never loved anyone else, and then along comes Cicero looking just like him...
> 
> And I got to have Sapphire and Glover meet again! YAY! I was wondering how to get them together, and now I see a way... But before that, we need to sort out the Morag Tong plot thread.


	15. Like Father, Like Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being closeted is no fun for anyone and Sapphire's no exception. So it's a good thing she has at least one trusted confidant to turn to. Meanwhile Cicero decides to call in some assistance, and Ria finally tells Vilkas her Dragonborn status and true paternity, with interesting results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quieter chapter this one - no action yet, but we do have some vital conversations that set the ground for the action to come.

 

Milore had heard the explosion from her alchemy store and gone running, seen everything with her own eyes, seen those monsters spring from the water and those two warriors that glowed and looked like dragons. She'd seen her brother-in-law and the young woman who'd just arrived off the boat go sprinting up there and seen battle commence. And now she saw them trooping towards her, Calixto and the young Nord, his odd brother Cicero, the other young Imperial, the red-haired Nord and the armoured warrior who'd been entranced like Aranea, except free and awake now. No sign of her sister.

 

“Calixto!” she cried. “What happened? Are you alright? Where – where's Aranea?”

 

The look of utter despair on his face said it all. Milore felt her heart break as the blood drained from her face and her blood went cold.

 

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no, she can't be, she _can't!_ You promised you'd keep watch, you _promised!_ ” She'd flung herself on to him by this point, sobbing as she punched his shoulder, howling her heartbreak out on him as he held on to her, telling her he was sorry, he'd find her, he swore it.

 

“Cal, who in Oblivion is she?” the younger Nord woman asked, and Milore was also aware of Cicero tilting his head to one side, looking at her curiously.

 

“Brother, surely you have not been seducing the local maidens while you were here? Aranea won't like that,” Cicero purred, before Calixto turned a glacial stare on him and the little jester backed off.

 

“This is Aranea's _sister_ ,” said Calixto sternly. “Her _married_ sister. Take that look off your face, we are not all you. Some of us have _standards._ ”

 

Cicero just kept right on smirking, but fortunately for him, Sapphire interrupted.

 

“Sister? Wait, 'Nea never mentioned a sister.” She came to get a better look at Milore, intrigued. “Hey there. I'm Sapphire. I'm, er, a friend of Aranea's.”

 

“Pleasure,” Milore whispered, barely paying any attention to Sapphire. She was still staring tearfully at Calixto, whose eyes flicked awkwardly to Sapphire then back to Milore.

 

“Milore, I'm sorry,” said Calixto softly. “We'll find her, I swear it, someone saw something. Someone _knows_ something. I will interrogate everyone in Raven Rock until I find out who.”

 

“Ooh, ooh, interrogation!” Cicero squealed. “Cicero likes interrogations! Please can I help, please say yes?”

 

Calixto finally did smile at that, not a pleasant smile but still a smile. “Of course, my brother. I was rather counting on it.” Cicero cackled gleefully, bouncing on the spot before gliding over to Milore, dark eyes inches from her own.

 

“Do not worry, sweet Milore, we will find her and bring her back. They cannot have gone far, the only boat here was Gjalund's and it is still here, look.”

 

“Best search it anyway though,” Calixto said thoughtfully. “If it's the only way off Solstheim, I want to know it's not going to be involved. Milore, I promise, we will find her.”

 

“How?” Milore sobbed. How was one motley group of mercenaries meant to go up against the Tong, for Azura's sake? “It's the Morag Tong, you know it is! How is anyone supposed to fight them? No one even knows where to find them!”

 

Calixto smiled knowingly, as did the woman Sapphire as they exchanged glances and then they both locked eyes with Cicero, predatory hungry smile on his face and then all three looked back at her, three identical expressions of cool determination.

 

“We will find them,” said Sapphire calmly. “We know how to find those who don't want to be found. We will find them, rescue Aranea and then we will murder them all.”

 

Milore shrank back, very glad she wasn't in their sights. As it was, she had the strange feeling they could do it too.

 

“You get her back,” Milore whispered. “You get my sister home!” Tears in her eyes, without waiting to hear the response, she fled back to her house and Garyn's warm embrace. She couldn't have lost Aranea already, she just couldn't.

 

Calixto watched her go before putting an arm around Sapphire, whose confidence had crumbled as soon as Milore had gone.

 

“What if we can't, Cal?” Sapphire whispered, hand to her mouth. “What if she's already...” She broke off, unable to say any more, just resting her head on Calixto's shoulder.

 

“She's not,” said Calixto fiercely. “If they wanted to kill her, they would have left the body. No, they took her captive. They want to keep her alive for now. I'm just trying to work out why. If she really does have a writ out on her, why bother? We'd not take someone captive unless we needed them alive. What does Aranea have that the Tong could possibly want?”

 

“Apart from the passphrases of two Sanctuaries and the location of all three in her head? Names and faces of all of us, details of many current contracts and clients?” Cicero snarled, fool persona dropping away as the Dark Brother surfaced. “Brother, Aranea is a Speaker of the Black Hand! Why would the Tong _not_ want to interrogate her? She is known to be associated with us both and we have hardly been discreet! Thieving Glover knew what we were, agents of the Morag Tong would know too!”

 

“Oh gods,” Sapphire whispered, shaking in Calixto's arms. “What do we do?”

 

“Like I said, someone knows something,” said Calixto grimly. “We ask around, we see if anyone saw anyone take her, or if anyone knows any nearby bandit lairs. We'll visit them all if we have to. In the mean time, start with the innkeeper. If anyone knows of any suspicious behaviour in town, it will be him. Someone in this town is a Tong agent, Sadri might be able to help us work out who they are. If it's not him of course. Talk to him, Cicero. I have faith in your ability to work out who is trustworthy. You've been at this game longer than anyone, you know what an assassin in hiding might look like.”

 

Cicero did indeed, he'd been the eyes in the shadows often enough. Yes, he could do this. Just a humble fool he might be, but he was really very good at stabbing people and that particular art required rather more than just an ability to wield a dagger. However, he was also Dragonborn and that had its own responsibilities. How very fortunate then that fate had arranged for someone to help cover them.

 

“Cicero?” Ria asked nervously as he approached her, Vilkas and Aela at her back, all hanging back nervously, sympathetic but loath to get involved in a guild war. He didn't blame them. This was no fight for enthusiastic amateurs. He loved them dearly, was very fond indeed of his other family, his Light Brotherhood, but in all honesty, the Tong would see them coming a mile off. No, this one required subtlety and finesse, which meant the Companions were best off out of it.

 

“Ria, my sweetling, Cicero is sorry but he is going to have to deal with this,” Cicero said solemnly, taking Ria's hands in his. “Miraak is going to have to wait for now. But you can deal with this, moni, I know you can. Look, look at the map, we cleansed the Wind Stone yesterday, and the Beast Stone on the way over here and now the Earth Stone. Only two left, the Sun Stone near Tel Mithryn and the Water Stone up on the north-west coast. Sweetling, do this for Cicero. Take Vilkas and Aela, go north, cleanse the Water Stone. Then come back and wait here if we are not in Raven Rock. We will not be long.”

 

“What about you, won't you need help?” Ria whispered, looking genuinely worried and that was very sweet of her, very sweet indeed, to worry about her sweet Cicero so. He smiled gently, patting her hand.

 

“This is not a job for Companions, not a problem that can be solved by charging screaming at it waving a battleaxe over one's head. No, Cicero will deal with this. Go, moni. Go do what Cicero cannot.”

 

Ria nodded, looking nervous but seeming to understand. She was a true warrior, his child, not suited for sneaking and stealth. Her Nord stepfather's influence perhaps? Or Kodlak's Nord blood skipping a generation? Cicero didn't know, but he did know Ria vastly preferred problems she could solve by swinging a blade at them. So he'd send her off to deal with one.

 

“And if you're not here when we get back?” she said quietly. Cicero hesitated. Truth be told, he didn't know how long this would take, but he also knew that once they had a destination, there wouldn't be a lot of hanging around.

 

“Two days,” he said softly. “Give us two days. If we are not back in Raven Rock in that time, wait no longer but make for Tel Mithryn. Deal with the Sun Stone then speak to Neloth. Here.” He took the Black Book from his pack and passed it over to her, secretly rather glad to get rid of it. “Do not enter it unless you have to. But if there is still no word from me and you can wait no longer...”

 

“I will,” Ria whispered, putting the Book away. That done, she turned and squeezed Cicero tight. “You take care. Those Morag Tong are dangerous!”

 

“Yes I know,” Cicero grinned, returning the hug. “But _so am I._ ” He kissed her on the cheek and let her go, returning to where Calixto and Sapphire were waiting, leaving Ria with her Shield-Siblings.

 

“Well, you heard him,” Ria sighed. “We can't really help with the whole assassin-hunting thing, they know what to look for far better than we do. But we can go and cleanse some All-Maker Stones, right?”

 

“We can do that,” said Aela, fingering her sword, grinning in anticipation. “I've got no problem taking on a few more of Mora's creatures.”

 

Vilkas frowned, something nagging at him. Cicero and Ria had always been close, a bit too close for his liking, but both had always emphatically denied they were anything more than friends. Now... now something had changed and he'd called her sweetling. He only called Delphine and Eola that. It was actually an old Nordic term, rather old-fashioned these days but often used between parents and children years ago... or lovers. That set all his hackles on edge. Had the little deviant had sex with his Ria??

 

“What happened between you two?” he growled. “Why are you so affectionate all of a sudden? And why in the name of the Divines is he sending us off to break a curse that apparently can only be dealt with by Shouting?” Because Ria couldn't Shout, they'd not brought the Dragon Infusion Potion with them and the recipe was a closely guarded Dark Brotherhood secret, a gift granted to virtually none given the potion required Cicero's blood to work and Delphine wasn't keen on people draining her husband for magical research purposes. There was no other way of someone who a few days ago hadn't known any Shouts to suddenly know how to use them. Only if they were Dragonborn, and Ria wasn't one. Right? Right??

 

“Come on,” said Ria quietly. “Let's get out into the wilderness first. I'll tell you on the way.”

 

Vilkas could only watch as she walked off, staring at Aela who just smiled gently. Great, whatever secret it was, Aela was in on it too.

 

“Don't worry, brother,” she said, patting his arm. “She's not Cicero's lover, don't worry. Never that, although he does love her dearly.”

 

Really not reassuring, but Vilkas clearly wasn't going to get any answers in Raven Rock. With no choice but to go along with this, he followed them away.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Ash falling from the sky. Ash on the ground. Ash spewing constantly out of Red Mountain. Grey sky that not even the Clear Skies Shout could turn blue. Solstheim truly was like another world. The view from the Bulwark showed all too well what Red Mountain had done to the place. On the other hand at least it was warm.

 

Cicero should be out talking to the residents of Raven Rock. Should be, but he needed to think first. Think things over and wonder just who the eyes and ears of the Tong might be.

 

A flick of his wrist and Lucien shimmered into being.

 

“Keeper.” Lucien looked around, unimpressed. “Well, this is Nirn at least. An improvement. Just about. This is Solstheim, I take it. I recognise Red Mountain.”

 

“You have worked in Morrowind,” Cicero said, recalling the fling he'd had with Aranea in life all those years ago. “You know Dunmer culture.”

 

“Wouldn't say I was an expert, but I know the basics,” said Lucien, surveying the ash wasteland with Cicero. “Why, what do you need to know? Has a contract come up?”

 

“You could say that,” Cicero growled. “Brother, it is bad! Worse than bad! The Morag Tong, they are here!”

 

“WHAT??” Lucien turned on him, horrified. “And we are standing around, why? Cicero, they could be anywhere. It will not take long for them to work out we are Brotherhood, especially with us dressed like we are.”

 

Cicero put his head in his hands. That had occurred to him already. Sithis, but Lucien was not going to like this next bit, not at all. But no help for it. He needed someone with first-hand experience of dealing with the Tong and Lucien was all he had.

 

“It is worse than that, Lucien,” Cicero whispered. “They already know. Brother, they... they have taken Aranea.”

 

Silence and that was worse than if Lucien had roared his fury out to the world.

 

“Brother?” Cicero said quietly, daring to look up. “Brother, there are Tong agents in Raven Rock, I don't know who they are, please help...”

 

“How could you have been so foolish,” said Lucien, his voice soft, soft like the caress of a whip before it came lashing down. “You knew, Cicero, you _knew_ about the damn writ and _you let her come here??_ To Morrowind, the one place where the Tong can operate freely, why??”

 

“She said it was safe!” Cicero howled. “She said Solstheim was remote, the Tong would never bother going out there!”

 

“That is precisely why they would set up a base here!” Lucien hissed. “Only one proper town on the entire island but any number of nooks and crannies for a Morag Tong cell to set up shop in peace. We're one boat ride away from Blacklight, it only takes a day to get there from Raven Rock! If they keep their noses clean here, have agents in the town to help cover for them, it is a simple matter to send someone to the mainland every so often to collect contracts, bring them back here for distribution and then send people out!”

 

“I KNOW THAT NOW!” Cicero howled, losing his patience. “Brother, Cicero called you so you could help not shout at poor worried Cicero!”

 

For a few moments, silence hung in the air as brother faced brother, jester staring down spectre. Then Lucien bowed his head and gave in.

 

“You are right, of course, there is no point arguing,” Lucien sighed. “Forgive me, I was worried about Aranea, as are you, no doubt. We are sure she is still alive and this is not a revenge mission?”

 

“Calixto said they would have left the body if they had wanted her dead,” said Cicero quietly, trying not to think of what Aranea might be suffering right now at the Tong's hands. “Also they might want her knowledge of... of us. We think they will keep her alive to interrogate.”

 

“Then we have little time to lose,” said Lucien, gaze hardening as he stared out at Red Mountain. “Do not fear, Cicero, I know the Tong of old. We'll find her and ensure they can learn nothing from her. We will reclaim our Speaker, that I promise you. So tell me of Raven Rock. It was still an Imperial trading outpost when I was alive. I know very little of it now.”

 

“It is small,” said Cicero. “Mostly Dunmer. Part of House Redoran, ruled by Councilor Morvayn and his deputy Adril Arano. Adril is married to a very pretty lady called Cindiri, Lleril Morvayn is not.”

 

“The wife cannot be ruled out, but it is unlikely,” Lucien murmured. “Influential, yes, but too high-profile. Too big a risk of scandal if word got out, and that would bring attention. They will not want attention. It will be someone well-respected but not so central to a town's life it would fall apart if they had to leave in a hurry. Could be someone in the guard, but not in a town like this. This is a frontier town, it likely doesn't support a high population and elves breed slowly. The Redoran Guard are likely to be from the mainland, not natives. They get deployed out here then rotated back to Blacklight when their stint is up. Standard practice in Morrowind for ordinary town guards, makes it a bit harder for the likes of the Thieves Guild or the Tong to infiltrate them if they could be deployed elsewhere in the House's territory without a lot of notice.”

 

So not any of them. They were starting to run out of names.

 

“It is not the smith,” said Cicero. “Glover Mallory is a Riften man, brother to Delvin of the Guild, Sapphire knows him, she has gone to see him now. He is surely not Tong.”

 

“A Guild man, hmm?” Lucien said thoughtfully. “Interesting, although looking at this town, I wonder why he bothered. Maybe he needed a place to lie low. Maybe he has enemies. I cannot imagine a man with enemies making himself known to an assassin's guild, not unless he had a Brotherhood contract on him and wished to make use of our long enmity, as Aranea did. But the Brotherhood tends to leave the Guild alone.”

 

“The town alchemist, Milore Ienth, she is Aranea's sister. She and her husband Garyn, it is not them,” said Cicero.

 

“Milore's here?” Lucien said in wonder. “Now that is good to hear, that she survived Red Year. She was the only member of her birth family Aranea missed. What's her husband's last name?”

 

“He is a Ienth as well, strange, is it not?” Cicero purred. He really didn't know a lot about Dunmer marriage customs, but Lucien clearly did because he smiled.

 

“Not really, he clearly took Milore's name. Means he's lower in status, knows it, doesn't have a chip on his shoulder about it and is a traditionalist. I don't think he'd turn his wife's sister in to the Tong. Who else?”

 

There was Crescius Caerellius and Aphia Velothi, but Lucien dismissed them as well. A descendant of a town founder from the Imperial days was not going to sign up with a Morrowind assassins guild, nor was someone who was clearly an Almsivist – not many other reasons for a priestess to get kicked out of the Temple of Reclamations. “The Morag Tong predated the Tribunal, they are sworn to Mephala above all. By Sithis, Cicero, if they hated us before, they really will not like us if Aranea tells them about your exploits this summer.”

 

Cicero just giggled, remembering how satisfying it had felt to munch down on Mephala's trapped avatarial presence and how happy he'd felt afterwards once they'd got back to Karthspire and Delphine had told him Mephala had been working against the Brotherhood for years and how pleased the Night Mother was with them all for finally sorting the problem out. He'd cried from sheer joy and relief and grief for his lost brothers and sisters while Delphine had held him tight.

 

“Cicero shall tell them!” Cicero giggled. “Cicero shall tell them, right before he slits their throats and sends them to the Void!”

 

Lucien did have to smile at that. “Yes you shall, Keeper,” he laughed, patting Cicero's shoulder. “Come, my bloodthirsty friend. Let us start doing some investigating. There's a tavern, yes? A cornerclub.”

 

“There is, there is!” Cicero giggled. “You think we can learn something there.”

 

“Cornerclubs have been an integral part of Dunmer culture for centuries,” said Lucien, nodding. “It is said they got their name because they typically provide lots of dark corners for Dunmer to meet quietly and plot. If there are Tong agents in town, they will use that cornerclub. Come, Cicero. Time to talk to that innkeeper of theirs.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Glover looked up as Sapphire approached, slowly lowering his tools as he took her in. Arms folded, head down, biting her lip and looking as if she was about to cry. He didn't know what had happened to her, but if it was that Corrium fetcher, he'd batter the bastard until his own mother didn't know him and hang the Brotherhood if they came after him.

 

“Sapphire? Sapphire, what happened?”

 

Sapphire looked up, tears glittering in her eyes, and that was wrong, very wrong, Sapphire never cried, not his girl. She looked pretty but was hard as nails under all that, nothing ever got to her. Had to be a man behind this, had to be, and when Glover got his hands on them...

 

“Glover, I – I need help, you're the only one in this town I trust, please...” Sapphire began, then she wiped her eyes, unable to say any more. Glover put his tools away, deciding today was going to be early-closing day and bugger the rest of Raven Rock. They could mend their own damn armour today.

 

“Come on, inside,” said Glover, hand on her back. “We can talk in private, yeah? Get you a drink or something, have a chat, right?”

 

Sapphire nodded, still wiping at her eyes.

 

“Sorry,” she whispered. “It's this damn ash, gets everywhere.”

 

“Yeah, the ash, it's a bugger like that, isn't it?” said Glover sympathetically, knowing full well it wasn't the ash. He closed the door, motioning for her to sit down while he retrieved some mead for them both from his secret stash of Black-Briar mead.

 

“Now, you needed help,” Glover said, both hands on his mead bottle. He knew from experience that Sapphire didn't really like people touching her. In the time he'd known her, about the only exceptions he'd ever seen her make were him and Brynjolf, and they both knew to never push it. Something had broken his Sapphire at some point, and although she'd put herself back together marvellously, the cracks and scars were still clearly there in every part of her. One day he'd find the ones responsible – if she'd not killed them herself of course. That was if she'd ever tell him. But that was for another day. Right now was time to deal with the more immediate problem of whatever had got to her.

 

“Yeah,” Sapphire whispered. “Glover, this is – this is a bit weird and definitely a bit personal, so please don't tell anyone and... and don't freak out on me, you're a thief not a damn priest so you don't get to judge me, right? And no laddish comments either or I'm outta here.”

 

Glover was a little bit offended that she'd think he might react like that, but then again, she'd probably seen him and Delvin gossiping about their Guildmates often enough to be worried.

 

“I will be the soul of discretion,” Glover promised. “So what's the big secret, kid? Come on, you can trust your old uncle Glover.” Hah, uncle Glover. He and Delvin had both presented themselves as wise old uncles when she'd first turned up in the Cistern, in Delvin's case because he was too busy fawning over Vex to see Sapphire as a potential conquest and in Glover's case, well... If he couldn't hear her call him father, uncle was the next best thing.

 

Sapphire nodded, not meeting his eyes. “Good, because I screwed up,” she said softly. “Mercer always used to say to keep business separate from pleasure, that none of us were here to enjoy ourselves or fuck about, we were here to make coin. Well, he was right.”

 

“Oh come off it,” Glover scoffed, conveniently ignoring the fact he'd walked away from the woman he'd loved because thieving had got too deep into him. “Mercer's an old misery who doesn't even know the meaning of the word fun. Even Haelga thinks he's too much of an arse to shag. You don't want to go taking any lessons on your personal life from him, love.”

 

Sapphire did laugh at that. “And there we all were thinking the only reason he wasn't buying affection was because he was too tight to shell out for it.”

 

“And that,” Glover smirked. “You open the dictionary and look up the phrase 'miserable sod', there's a picture of Mercer's face next to it.”

 

Sapphire laughed again as she took a gulp of mead and that was better, that was the Sapphire he remembered, always happy to sink a few pints with him and bitch about the rest of the Guild. By the Eight, he'd missed her.

 

“He was right though,” said Sapphire softly. “I fucked up big time, Glover. You're not meant to fall in love. Not with – not with your Guildmates.”

 

He knew it. There was a man at the root of it. Same old story all over the world – give Glover a crying woman turning up out of nowhere, bound to be a man at the bottom of it somewhere.

 

“All right, who is he?” Glover growled, flexing his knuckles. “Where is the sorry son-of-a-bitch who broke your heart? Point me at the bastard, I'll work him over for you. Hang on, you're not – you're not pregnant, are you? Sodding Oblivion, sweetheart, it's all right, we'll talk to Milore, she'll fix you up good and proper...”

 

“Glover!” Sapphire sighed, exasperated. “I'm not – I'm not pregnant! I'm not – it's not...” She was staring at the mead in her hands, clearly fed up about something and then she just sighed. “Her name's Aranea, and she's beautiful. And – and now she's gone and I... I don't know what to do...”

 

Sapphire's composure broke and she was crying, bawling her eyes out, hands to her forehead as she sobbed her heart out. Glover didn't even know how to react. A lady... Sapphire had fallen in love with a girl. Dunmer from the sound of it, in fact hadn't a Dunmer called Aranea got off the boat with the Brotherhood lot? Glover hadn't seen her around lately, last he heard she was up at the Earth Stone, but his mind wouldn't seem to let him think any more about that stone somehow. Then it had, well, blown up today and there'd been fighting and magic and screams and... He'd seen the two brother assassins, at least one heavily armoured warrior and the Redoran Guard all out in force, and left them all to it, seeing as Sapphire was clearly in possession of a brain and keeping her distance, sniping those things with a really rather nice glass bow and arrows.

 

He'd not realised his little girl's lover had been up there in the midst of it all, still less that his little girl's lover wasn't actually a man, which did put a bit of a downer on the whole beating them up thing.

 

“Oh sweetheart. I'm so sorry. Come here, kid. Tell me everything. Was it those whatjamacallits that burst out of the water pit?”

 

Sapphire shook her head, yielding easily as he knelt by her side, leaning into him.

 

“No,” she whispered tearfully. “No, it's worse. She wasn't killed – she was under a spell, didn't know where she was, couldn't defend herself and while Cal was distracted, they took her! And it's all my fault!”

 

“How is it your fault, darlin'?” Glover asked softly. “Surely it's the fault of the bastards what took her?”

 

“No you don't understand!” Sapphire cried. “Cal adores her, he'd never have left her! The only reason he left her unattended was because he saw the boat come back and me get off it and he wanted to know why I'd turned up! That's when they took her!”

 

All right, things had now got very weird indeed.

 

“Hang on a second, I thought you said she was your girl?” Glover asked, confused. Sapphire did look up then, smiling at him despite the tears.

 

“Yeah, she is,” Sapphire grinned. “She's also Cal's. Aranea liked us both and we liked her so we share. I don't mind, really.”

 

“You sure about that, sweetheart?” Glover asked, not at all sure Sapphire didn't mind. There was just something in her eyes, some tell that said all was not entirely to her liking.

 

“Yeah, it's cool,” Sapphire said, lowering her eyes. “I mean, apart from the fact that she and Cal already told everyone here they were a married couple so it didn't look odd, and it turns out Milore's her little sister and if I tell anyone she's my girlfriend too it'll just look weird or suspicious and even though she's been kidnapped, I can't tell anyone! No one's telling me how sorry they are or offering me hugs, Milore's comforting Cal but she just ignored me! I'm just a friend. A friend! Who's there for me, Glover? Who?”

 

“Me,” Glover breathed, pulling her into a hug, hating the sight of his daughter in tears like this, hating even more that there wasn't a lot he could do to make it all better either. “I'm here for you, kid. I'll always be here for you. I'll look after you, I promise, love.”

 

“Oh,” Sapphire breathed, before wriggling out of his arms, looking awkward. “Um. Glover... I, er, don't see you that way...”

 

Bloody arsing fuck, of course she'd completely misinterpreted it.

 

“I didn't mean it like that!” Glover protested, hoping he wasn't blushing too much. “I mean – daedra's sake, Sapphire, you're young enough to be my daughter. I mean, well, er, look, you're a Guild sister and I want you to be happy, alright? Look, are you staying at the inn?”

 

“I guess so,” Sapphire said, her voice wooden. “Can't really go up to Milore and tell her 'oh hey, I'm your sister's other lover and Cal there's not exactly married to her either, do I get a bed at yours too?', can I?”

 

No, she really couldn't, not without Aranea herself being there, and that was the whole problem, wasn't it?

 

“Stay here,” said Glover, knowing in his heart she'd probably say no but knowing he had to offer. “I've got some spare bedding, I'll sleep on the floor, you can have my bed. Don't worry, my intentions are purely honourable. You don't have to worry about me making advances or nothing, I'm far too old for all that.”

 

That did make her laugh. “I don't think there's any such thing as too old,” she said, that smile back in place. “You mean it? I can stay here?”

 

“Course you can,” said Glover gruffly. “I'm gonna make that shrine for you, and then you and I are going to find these bastards who took your girlfriend and we're gonna make 'em bleed. Teach them to mess with the Guild, won't we?”

 

“Glover,” Sapphire gasped and now there were tears in her eyes. “Glover, you don't have to do that. It wasn't some bunch of bandits that took her, it was the Morag Tong!”

 

Morrowind's sort of legal assassin's guild. Well wasn't that just his luck, getting caught up in their feud with the Dark Brotherhood. Ah well. About time he had a real challenge to deal with.

 

“We're not a bunch of common bandits either,” he growled. “We're the bloody Thieves' Guild and you've got your two Dark Brotherhood mates in town as well. That little one looks like he could cope in a fight, let me tell you. Wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley.”

 

“Yeah, Cicero's something else,” Sapphire said, actually sounding fond of the little bugger. “Listen, let me get my things moved in here, then I need to go and find him, see if he's found anything out, make sure he's not stabbed anyone, you know.”

 

“Don't let me stop you,” Glover said, holding the door open for her. Gods forbid the stabby little bugger be allowed to wander the town unsupervised.

 

Sapphire stopped in the doorway, turning to look at him before she left, gentle smile on her face.

 

“Thanks, Glover. For listening. And understanding and being a friend. You're OK, you know. Not a sleazy lecher like a lot of guys are. Thank you.”

 

If only she knew. Back in the day, the Brothers Mallory had been exactly like that. But time caught up with them all, and finding out he had a daughter had changed everything.

 

“You're welcome, kid,” said Glover quietly. “Now go shake down some marks for me and find out where the Tong are hiding. Try Sadri at the Retching Netch, he notices everything.”

 

Sapphire thanked him and left. Glover returned to his mead, thinking over what he'd got himself into. The Morag Tong, eh? Dangerous. Very dangerous. Still, not like he was a stranger to dangerous situations, in fact in his previous life as a Guild enforcer, he was usually the cause of said dangerous situations. He'd not lost his edge in the five years he'd been retired. The Tong had picked the wrong thief to mess with this time.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Raven Rock had fallen out of sight some time ago as the three Companions trekked onwards, heading for the Water Stone. Vilkas wasn't sure what to expect when they got there. Both Ria and Aela were being a bit tight-lipped on the whole thing. Some sort of Shout, Ria had said? Then presumably the possibility of fighting off more of those Lurker things, but once they were dealt with the Stone would be clean.

 

Which begged the question of how Ria learnt to Shout in the first place.

 

“So now we're away from Raven Rock, do you mind telling me what we're doing?” Vilkas asked. “What happened while I was apparently hammering away at that Earth Stone?”

 

“We went looking for Miraak,” Ria said, still not meeting his eyes. “We found his Temple and we found where he got his power from. He made a deal with Hermaeus Mora, Vilkas. He's been hiding in Apocrypha all this time, it's where he fled when Vahlok came for him. Using a Black Book we found in there.”

 

“That thing Cicero gave you,” Vilkas said, still shuddering at the memory of the hated black object, evil practically oozing off it. Ria nodded, seeming to not want to talk about it. It was Aela who took up the story.

 

“Cicero tried reading it to follow Miraak,” Aela explained. “But it didn't go well. He found Miraak and... and he came back changed.”

 

“Changed how?” Vilkas asked. “He didn't look any different to me!”

 

“He was scared,” said Ria softly. “I've never seen him that terrified, ever. He was curled up in my arms, howling. Miraak did something to him. Cicero said Miraak was stronger but I can't help but wonder what went on. Cicero won't talk about it. All I know is he came back damaged. We were able to get to the Skaal Village with help from one of them, the shaman's daughter Frea. The shaman there said in order to fight Miraak we'd need to follow in his footsteps. He sent us to a place called Saering's Watch, some mausoleum Miraak built for his lover after he died. There was a Word Wall there, it had a word of power that Miraak could use to mind control things with. That's why he turned to Mora, he wanted to know the others in the Shout. So Cicero learnt it and we've been using it to cleanse the All-Maker Stones so Miraak can't abuse their power any more.”

 

“I gathered that,” said Vilkas, returning to the burning question as far as he was concerned. “But Cicero is back in Raven Rock dealing with the Morag Tong and rescuing Aranea from them. If he's not here, how are we going to Shout at the Water Stone?”

 

Ria didn't say anything, staring mutely at the ground as she scuffed her feet in the ash. Vilkas turned to Aela, hoping she'd be more help. Aela was walking alongside Ria, catching Vilkas' eye but her hand resting on Ria's shoulder.

 

“Ria, you should tell him,” Aela said gently. “We are Shield-Brothers and Sisters, we don't keep secrets like this. We trust each other. You trust Vilkas, don't you?”

 

“Of course,” Ria sighed. “I just... Vilkas, we're friends right? You won't hate me for this, will you?”

 

“Can't say without knowing what it is,” said Vilkas, now completely confused. “Ria, please tell me you've done nothing illegal or dishonourable.”

 

“No!” Ria cried. “Only... only you'll look at me differently. It'll be weird.”

 

“Not nearly as weird as it feels right now,” said Vilkas through gritted teeth. “Ria, just tell me. I promise to hear you out.” He wasn't sure he could promise a lot else but he could at least listen and not shout at her.

 

“OK. When we got to Saering's Watch, there was a dragon there and we killed it. I was watching it burn while Cicero was off looking at the Word Wall and then... then I took its soul.” She said that last bit in a very small and quiet voice that was hard to hear but Vilkas' keen hearing had absorbed the main point.

 

“You did what now? Ria, you can't have done, only a Dragonborn can do that and you're not...” He stopped, seeing the bitterly unhappy look on her face, a tear on her cheek and the guilt, oh the guilt. He looked up at Aela, hoping for a note of sanity from one of the most sensible people he knew, but he was to be disappointed.

 

“Believe it, brother, it's true,” said Aela, actually looking rather proud of Ria. “We've got ourselves a Dragonborn. Well, another one.”

 

Not possible. It wasn't possible, why would there be two Dragonborns, there wouldn't be, surely not and why Ria, she was young, she was barely twenty one, she'd get killed, he couldn't let her go up against a dragon, he couldn't, she wasn't ready!

 

“How? Why? I mean... you can't be Dragonborn!” he snapped. “Why would the gods pick you, there's any number of better warriors out there!”

 

Ria stopped in her tracks, looking up at him finally, eyes widening and her mouth twisting in a vicious snarl that reminded him of Cicero at his worst, and Vilkas began to realise he'd just made a horrible mistake. Even Aela was looking pained at his stupidity.

 

“I'm sorry,” Vilkas began. “I didn't mean it like that, I just wanted to know why...”

 

“You know, I have had just about ENOUGH of you!” Ria seethed, those dark eyes blazing, looking just like Cicero's and when Cicero looked like that, someone usually died and not pleasantly either. “Ever since I joined Jorrvaskr, you've been picking at me, belittling my skills, telling me I can't fight, can't hold a blade, that I'm doing it wrong, am a terrible warrior, should never be allowed out on my own, that it's too dangerous for me out there, and now I'm a damn Dragonborn and it's still not enough for you??” She was advancing on him, jabbing at his chest in righteous fury, and he'd never seen her like this, never. Never this angry, this wild. It was an awesome sight, and simultaneously terrifying.

 

Ria was continuing her tirade, not letting up for a second.

 

“Well tough, Vilkas!” she snapped. “I am strong, I am brave, I'm a bloody Dovahkiin and it turns out the reason that happened is because Cicero Di Rosso couldn't keep it in his pants twenty one years ago!”

 

Wait, what? She wasn't seriously saying... Vilkas could feel the blood draining from his face as a cold sensation of terror prickled up his spine. Not just dragon blood, but jester dragon blood. Dear gods, he was a dead man.

 

“And... and it freaked me out at first, but you know what, I don't care anymore!” Ria shouted, cheeks flushed. “He's my damn father and he's not what I ever imagined, but he's strong and he's brave and he's been a friend and a mentor all along, and even though he's terrified I might die, he trusted me to go and do this for him. Because he thinks I'm brave and strong and capable and he loves me and is proud of me, _unlike some!_ ”

 

 _But I do..._ the thought came unbidden as Vilkas realised that not only did Ria prefer Cicero to him, she seemed to outright resent him and that hurt, it hurt like Oblivion.

 

“I am Sil-Maar-Yah Mon-se-Ziizahro and you do not get to tell me what to do, not ever EVER again!” Ria shouted. “Because you are not my father, Vilkas, my father is a Dragonborn and I am _very much his daughter!_ FUS RO DAH!”

 

The Shout caught him completely unawares, dragon power slamming into him and he was flying backwards, wind and ash rushing past him until he smacked into water and felt the sea claim him.

 

His armour was dragging him down, sinking and although he was strong and could swim, he was still dazed, still not sure which way was up. He was vaguely aware of sounds of someone crying something and then there was movement in the water, a hand on his, then another and someone trying to drag him to the surface.

 

Vilkas clung on and pulled himself upright, and he could breathe again, shaking water out of his eyes as Solstheim's grey sky shone overhead. Ria was there, looking horrified and guilty, arm around him while Aela was on his other side, both of them waist-deep in the shallows off Solstheim, legacy of Miraak's war, both helping him to his feet and back to shore.

 

“Gods, Vilkas, I'm sorry, so sorry, I didn't mean to, are you all right?” Ria was babbling, sounding like herself again and less like a saner version of Cicero.

 

“It's fine,” Vilkas gasped, staggering on to the beach and shaking himself down, wondering what would be worse, waterlogged armour or taking it off to air out, knowing he'd be covered in ash instead when he put it back on, and actually the ash was worse, not to mention the prospect of Aela and Ria watching made him feel distinctly uncomfortable.

 

“I didn't mean to,” Ria whispered guiltily. “Vilkas, I'm so sorry, you could have drowned!”

 

“I didn't,” said Vilkas, looking at her properly for the first time, trying to picture her as Cicero's child and while she didn't look too like him, probably taking after her mother, there was something in the jawline, something in the eyes, and he'd seen the changed way Cicero treated her. He'd been tender, gentle, but he'd also entrusted her with a Black Book of Hermaeus Mora and the entire Miraak mission while he attended to vital Brotherhood business. Ria was right – Cicero had faith in her to survive and get the job done despite worrying about her. Why couldn't he do the same?

 

 _Because it would break my heart,_ he finally admitted to himself. Because when he'd first laid eyes on her, all those months ago, he'd seen a very pretty young girl and not seen a warrior, he'd seen her looking so fragile and small next to Nord women and been convinced she'd get killed her first time out. Then he'd taken over her training and preventing that happening had become an obsession. In all that time he'd never thought to ask himself why. Not until now. 

 

“No thanks to me,” Ria whispered, looking terrified. “I'm so sorry, Vilkas.”

 

“Don't be,” said Vilkas. “I daresay I deserved it. So you really are Dragonborn then.”

 

Ria nodded, still not looking up. “Yeah.”

 

“And Cicero really is...”

 

“My father. Yeah, looks like it,” Ria admitted, cheeks blazing. “Um. You're not freaked out are you? I mean, you still want to be friends with me, don't you? Even though I'm related to...”

 

“To Cicero?” Vilkas laughed, feeling something of a weight slide off his shoulders. Cicero's child, she was Cicero's child and Cicero clearly adored her. He didn't need to obsess over protecting her any more, if she'd inherited even half his skills she'd be a force to be reckoned with. And if anyone did hurt her, they'd have someone infinitely more dangerous than Vilkas to deal with. “Ria, don't worry, so is Kodlak and I never stopped respecting the man. Of course we're still friends. Only I don't think I can be your mentor any more.”

 

“I understand,” said Ria quietly, wiping at the corner of her eye. “You don't trust me any more. That's OK, I don't know if I do either.”

 

Oh good gods no, that wasn't it at all! Vilkas stepped forward, pulling her into his arms for a cuddle and by the Eight, she felt nice in his arms, he should have said something months ago, bothered to open his eyes.

 

“It's not that,” he said gently. “Only that I don't think there's anything more I can teach you. I think you might just be stronger than I am.”

 

“I don't think so,” Ria gasped, her arms going around him as she rested her head on his shoulders. Vilkas just hugged her, smiling.

 

“Well, we'll see, won't we? We'll have to hunt a dragon together, you and I, see you in action!”

 

Ria laughed at that, looking a bit happier now that it was clear he wasn't angry. Quite the opposite – a Dragonborn? At Jorrvaskr? Actually one of theirs, not a Dark Brotherhood Dragonborn who'd ended up joining by accident. Now that was something to sing about.

 

Aela was watching them both from a short distance away, grinning at them both.

 

“Well it's about time,” was all she said as they broke off, and Vilkas began to realise that his feelings for Ria must have been blatantly obvious to everyone except him and Ria herself. “What? She outgrew you as a mentor three months ago at least.”

 

Probably since that Korvanjund jaunt with Cicero. Ria had stumbled off the back of a dragon, different somehow. He'd not been entirely sure what to do with her since. Dragon blood rising maybe? Maybe.

 

All he knew was that she was Dovahkiin now, like her father and grandmother before her, and while he might not be her mentor any more, he'd still protect her with his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are, all ready for some Dark Brotherhood detective work next chapter, and then hopefully some righteous vengeance on the Morag Tong.


	16. Served Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a race against time to get to Aranea before the Tong can succeed in carrying out the writ against her or worse, learn where the Brotherhood's Sanctuaries are. Fortunately it turns out an old contract of Sapphire's is the key to the puzzle, and once a trail has been found the Brotherhood are old hands at pursuing it, as the Tong will find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, warnings. Blood, torture and violence in this one. It's not pretty or pleasant, but justice will be done and the damage mostly repaired. The benefits of having a flesh magician with no concept of research ethics on your team, plus able assistance from Nurse Cicero (who was very upset he didn't get a uniform).
> 
> On a more pleasant note, there's an homage to the Jaynestown episode of Firefly in this chapter too - you'll know it when you see it.

Geldis Sadri was ruing the day these strange outlanders had first walked into his cornerclub. Polite enough, dancing attendance on a priestess after all, but there was something unsettling from the start about those two Imperial men and he was convinced by this point the little one was insane. Said short Imperial had made himself at home at the bar, a ghost of all things following him and wandering around the room causing more than one patron to look suspiciously at their sujamma.

 

“Cicero is looking for anyone... suspicious,” Cicero murmured, glancing around the room with narrowed eyes. “Anyone acting... strangely. Unusually. As if they have something to hide. As if they might be up to something. Well? Has Sadri seen anyone like that?”

 

Geldis edged closer, beckoning him forward, glancing around for eavesdroppers.

 

“As a matter of fact, yeah, I have seen someone like that.”

 

Cicero's face lit up as he leaned closer. “Who? Who? Tell me!”

 

“He's a short guy. Been hanging around town a lot lately,” Geldis whispered. “Definitely up to something. Wears black a lot, and red. Pale skin, dark eyes, red hair and he's usually wearing a jester's hat.”

 

Cicero's face had frozen into a mask, mouth twisted and his teeth bared.

 

“You are _not_ HELPING!” Cicero yelled, voice rising to a pitch on the last word, making even Mogrul jump. “Sadri should be careful. Sadri is trying Cicero's patience. If Sadri does not take care, Cicero might become... _angry._ ” Cicero's voice lowered to the merest hiss as he stared up at Geldis with eyes like pits. “Sadri does not wish to see Cicero angry.”

 

Geldis didn't doubt it, but he saw a lot of angry drunks in this business. He could handle one addled jester.

 

“You gonna drink that smoothie or what?” he asked as he nudged Cicero's untouched tankard of pureed ash yam. Cicero's eyes flickered and slowly Cicero got to his feet, growling as his eyes bored into Geldis, promising the imminent arrival of a whole universe of pain.

 

Happily, the moment was interrupted by another new arrival, a dark-haired Nord in leather armour and a shiny dagger at her waist that Geldis swore that other Imperial had had a few days ago. She breezed into the cornerclub with not a care in the world, took a seat next to Cicero, patted his back and smiled at Sadri.

 

“Sujamma please. Hey Cicero, you found anything?”

 

Cicero's mood switched from murderous to childlike in a second as he turned to his friend, pouting and whining and pawing at her arm.

 

“Sister, sister, the innkeeper will not tell me anything! He keeps mocking poor Cicero! Cicero's tried hard, so very hard! Cicero is thinking he might have to come back... later.”

 

The Nord woman patted Cicero's arm as she took the sujamma Geldis had poured her, nudging some septims over to pay for it.

 

“Let's see if we can't try a few other options first. Sadri, isn't it? Geldis Sadri? Are you related to Revyn Sadri of Windhelm by any chance? He runs the general store there.”

 

“He's my brother,” said Geldis warily, having heard all the stories of how well Dunmer and Nords had got on in Windhelm. “You from there?”

 

“Not originally, but I live there now,” the woman said, reaching for her drink. “Name's Sapphire, I see him in the New Gnisis most nights. He's a nice guy.”

 

A Nord woman who drank in the Windhelm cornerclub... dark-haired, called Sapphire... In a second, Geldis knew her and in another second, the drink was snatched from Sapphire's hand as he shoved her coins back at her.

 

“Keep your money,” he growled. “You're not buying anything in this cornerclub.”

 

“What?” Sapphire cried, outraged. “I didn't even do anything! You know what, Cicero, you had the right idea, let's get out of -” She stopped, seeing Geldis had produced a small ceramic cup and a bottle of the special sujamma, slamming both on the bar in front of her.

 

“Sapphire Stone-Killer gets nothing but the best served to her!” Geldis announced, and that did get a few looks. He poured her a drink and handed her the bottle. “On the house, muthsera. My brother told me what you did. Thank you. If there's anything you ever need, you just ask.”

 

Sapphire sat back down again, stunned. “Seriously?” she whispered. “I mean, really?”

 

“Really,” Geldis confirmed. Gods, Sapphire Stone-Killer, right here in Raven Rock! The one who'd made every Dunmer in Windhelm safer by taking care of that bullying Nord drunkard. And here she was in the flesh, as charming and down-to-earth as Revyn had said.

 

“I don't know what to say,” Sapphire whispered. “I mean, thank you!”

 

“Don't mention it,” said Geldis roughly. “You just make yourself at home.”

 

Cicero scowled as he stared at his ash yam smoothie. There was something monstrously unjust about Sapphire stabbing one person and getting the best drinks in the club free of charge, while he'd stabbed lots of people and got stuck with the children's menu. It was unjust and unfair and when he saw Aranea again, he was going to complain to her about it. If he ever saw her again, and the fact that he might not made him sad. He tugged at Sapphire's sleeve again.

 

“Sister, ask him about... you know!”

 

“About... yeah, yeah, course,” said Sapphire, recollecting herself. “Listen, Geldis, I need help and it's important and kind of confidential, so I'd appreciate a bit of discretion. Like, if anyone other than Cal wants to know what we talked about, it was just about the weather or something, right?”

 

“Gotcha,” said Geldis knowingly, lowering his voice. “So what do you want to know?”

 

“It's Aranea,” Sapphire whispered. “Aranea Ienith, priestess of Azura. She's my friend and she's missing. We think... we think it was the Morag Tong. Geldis, have you heard anything about them being on Solstheim, do you have any idea...?”

 

Geldis leaned in, his smile fading but he also looked thoughtful. “The Tong, eh? You know, Adril Arano's suspected they're in town for some time. He's got reason to believe there's a contract out against Lleril Morvayn. Apparently he executed a member of House Hlaalu years ago, a guy called Vilur Ulen. Adril thinks his kin want revenge and they've got the Tong involved. Find the Ulens, I think you'll find your priestess.”

 

“Where are they?” Cicero breathed. “Where are these faithless Ulens hiding?”

 

Sapphire placed a hand on Cicero's wrist, hushing him.

 

“If anyone knew, they'd have found them by now, right?” she whispered. Geldis nodded, face sombre.

 

“They're slippery bastards. Good at keeping in the shadows. You've got to be cunning. Subtle. Flush 'em out of hiding somehow. Fortunately, I have an idea how you might go about it.”

 

“Tell me,” Sapphire said. “I know how to find people, believe me.”

 

“You might regret finding this lot,” said Geldis softly. “But you're the Stone-Killer, you're no weakling, I know. There's an Ulen ancestral tomb in Raven Rock, over by the Temple. No Ulens officially left on the island, of course, but someone keeps going in there and leaving offerings. I told Adril this of course, but funnily enough, when the guards are known to be staking a place out, our mystery mourner doesn't seem to want to know. You though – you might have better luck. If you can sneak in there without getting seen and lie in wait – you might see something worth seeing.”

 

Sapphire glanced at Cicero, who was already looking gleeful at the thought of ambushing someone. Sneak in unseen and lie in wait. Easy.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Tilisu glanced around as she entered the tomb. No one here. Good. While any Dunmer could leave offerings at any tomb, it was in practice rare to leave offerings at a tomb not belonging to one's kin or House, or to someone so venerated they transcended ancestry. Vilur Ulen certainly wasn't one of those. But he was her uncle and no one else was going to leave anything here. Vendil loved his father dearly but didn't want to risk being seen, and Mirri had never really known Vilur, being only a girl at the time. So down to her it was then.

 

She'd just finished arranging the fresh yams and lighting the candles when there was movement. She started, getting to her feet, feeling a little nervous to see one of the outlanders there. The Nord woman who'd just got off the boat that day, clearly an associate of that Corrium fellow. A fellow Dark Brotherhood agent, perhaps? Tilisu slowly reached for her dagger. Time to winnow the Betrayer's family a little further while there were no witnesses, perhaps.

 

“Can I help you, sera?” she asked, sizing the woman up. That armour looked sturdy, not usual Brotherhood fare but likely not poison-resistant either. Good, she'd started keeping her blades poisoned specially ever since Vendil had recognised Corrium's armour as the Shrouded variety.

 

“You might,” the woman purred. “I was wondering what you were doing here. This is the Ulen tomb, isn't it? None of them on this island, so I heard.”

 

“Any Dunmer of any family can honour the dead at any tomb,” said Tilisu stiffly, circling around the Nord, waiting for the right moment to strike. “I'm simply paying my respects here because no one else does.”

 

“You felt sorry for them,” the Nord said, raising an eyebrow. “That's adorable. You're all heart.” Her eyes narrowed as she reached for her own dagger, and that really was a very nice blade, the steel or whatever it was gleaming in the firelight.

 

“Tell me why you're really here, Tilisu,” the woman growled. “How far do your Ulen sympathies go, exactly?”

 

She was on to her. Now what? Keep bluffing? Kill her? But that would leave a body to hide and no doubt her associates would soon come looking.

 

“I don't know what you're talking about,” said Tilisu stubbornly. “I'm just paying my respects to the dead. I might ask what you're doing here. You're not even Dunmer.”

 

“No, but I care a great deal for one,” she replied, edging nearer. “Her name's Aranea Ienith, you heard of her perhaps? She's missing. I'd pay a great deal for information leading to her whereabouts.”

 

Tilisu imagined she would, but she was going to remain disappointed.

 

“That's very sad but I can't imagine why you think I might know anything,” Tilisu said, reconsidering killing her. One less assassin, one step closer to regaining Mephala's favour perhaps. No one knew what had caused all the shrines to stop working, but Tilisu didn't think sacrificing a Dark Brotherhood assassin to Mephala would hurt. Not like there were any witnesses to say who struck first, were there? Slowly she slipped her dagger out of its sheath, holding it behind her back. It was her last mistake. She didn't even hear the assassin behind her, didn't know a thing until a Daedric dagger sunk expertly between her ribs... and then she knew nothing.

 

Sapphire gasped as she saw Tilisu sink to the floor, blood spurting out of her as Cicero withdrew his dagger, avoiding the worst of the bloodspray with practised agility.

 

“You idiot!” Sapphire cried. “She could have told us something! She knew where Aranea is, I could tell.”

 

“She would not have told you,” Cicero said, shrugging as he cleaned his dagger. “She had a knife in her hand, look, she was going to stab you. So Cicero struck first.”

 

“He speaks truly,” Lucien purred, stepping into the light himself. “She would have told us nothing without a lengthy and brutal interrogation. We do not have time and to either carry it out here or take her prisoner and do it elsewhere would risk drawing attention. At least we know her family are involved now. When she does not return, they will realise there is trouble and alert the others. All we need do is follow.”

 

Cicero had been searching the body, pulling out various valuables which Sapphire would see about fencing later... and a key, presumably to the woman's house. He brandished it in the air, looking unbearably smug.

 

“And now we search their house, sister,” he cooed. “Maybe there will be... evidence.”

 

Sapphire took the key, beginning to smile herself. “Now that's something worth trying. All we need do now is hide the body so no one raises the alarm with the guards.”

 

“Well, we are in the tomb of her ancestors,” Lucien mused. “Although they usually cremate Dunmer.”

 

“Oh don't worry, leave it to Cicero.” The little jester produced the Wabbajack and waved it over Tilisu's looted corpse. It promptly turned into a dead goat, which Cicero hauled over to an ash pit and began to bury. Sapphire gave him a hand, ensuring it was well hidden under all the ash. Sure, the smell of decomposing goat would give it away eventually, but not for a while and if no one else ever came down here, they might never find it. Certainly no one would ever tie it back to them. Next step, find some evidence implicating the rest of the family.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Severin Manor was silent, eerily so, as the three of them crept in. Calixto was still at Milore's, having gone to get another dose of elixir and been firmly told that he'd had enough and should sleep now the Earth Stone was free. He'd yawned and agreed, especially when Sapphire reminded him he'd need to be properly rested for the rescue attempt. So it was just Sapphire, Lucien and Cicero creeping in to the house, quietly searching through drawers and containers, anywhere someone might hide anything. So far, nothing out of the ordinary for a wealthy family, although the existence of a full forge and smelter raised a few eyebrows. Definitely up to something then.

 

Finally they congregated in the master bedroom. Plenty of stuff worth having, but so far nothing that might indicate the location of a secret Morag Tong base on the island. Nothing... until they found the safe. Locked and no sign of a key anywhere.

 

“Mr. Severin must have it,” Cicero murmured. “Curses! Well, no matter, we can always wait for him to come back and make him open it...” He paused, seeing Sapphire was ignoring him, knocking back a potion, adjusting her gloves and setting out her lockpicks, picking one up and setting to work on the lock.

 

“Or we could let your thief friend do her work, hmm?” Lucien said, sitting back and making himself comfortable on the large double bed.

 

“Or you fetchers could keep watch while I'm doing this in case one of the others comes home and alerts the guard perhaps?” Sapphire growled as she focused on trying to crack this safe. Nearly there, she almost had it...

 

The last tumbler fell into place and the safe sprang open. In amongst the coin purses and jewels was a letter.

 

“ _Dear Councilor Saldin,_

 

_In a manner of days I believe we'll be ready. Our forces hidden within Ashfallow Citadel have been training night and day, ready to strike when we give the signal. With Captain Veleth distracted by the ash spawn attacks, the timing seems perfect. I've waited nearly a decade to exact my revenge upon Lleril Morvayn for the death of my ancestor and I long for the moment my blade will be drawn across his throat. The next letter you'll receive from me will include his head in a sack. Display it proudly in the halls of House Hlaalu, brother._

 

_Vendil Ulen”_

 

“Ashfallow Citadel,” Sapphire repeated. “That's it, has to be.”

 

“But we still don't know where that is!” Cicero cried. Sapphire put the letter away with a smile.

 

“Glover will know, he's been here long enough to know where most of these places are. Go and wake Cal up and I'll meet you by the Bulwark with Glover, let's go!”

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

“BROTHER!” Calixto nearly fell out of Milore's guest bed and his mood didn't improve to see Cicero grinning down at him.

 

“Cicero,” Calixto sighed, rubbing his eyes. “How long...?”

 

“You have slept for four whole hours!” Cicero announced cheerfully. “Are you not rested now and full of life?”

 

Calixto growled at Cicero, wishing the little madman was anything but. All the same, he was in a good mood which boded well for them.

 

“Did you find her?” he said, turning to Lucien, hoping for a saner answer from him. “Do you know where Aranea is?”

 

Both men nodded, grinning.

 

“They have a secret hideout at Ashfallow Citadel,” Lucien told him. “Sapphire's gone to locate a guide who can take us there – she thinks Glover the smith will know the place.”

 

“You found all that out already?” Calixto asked, impressed. Cicero nodded, fairly buzzing with delight at this point.

 

“Yes! Yes! And Cicero hardly had to stab anyone! Only Tilisu Severin after we caught her leaving offerings at a traitor's tomb and she tried to stab Sapphire,” Cicero babbled, looking very pleased with himself. “Then we broke into their house and found a letter saying they had troops at Ashfallow Citadel. So we are going there to stab them all and find Aranea. Well, brother?”

 

“Severin,” Calixto repeated, mind working a lot better off drugs and with sleep behind it. “Yes, Vendil Severin, he was there when we first got to Aranea at the Earth Stone, he saw me in Shrouded Armour. Members of that entire family would keep dropping by now and then, and Mirri was there when I ran to see Sapphire. Yes, it's them, I know it. And in Raven Rock Mine, Cicero, you said if you wanted to take over a town, you'd move there, ingratiate yourself, become a pillar of the community then murder the Jarl in secret and take over. Sounds like they had a similar idea. Come on, where's my armour, we've got no time to lose.”

 

Calixto had just finished changing into his Shrouded armour, Blades katana and Cicero's Skyforge blade at his waist when Milore arrived to see what the fuss was about.

 

“You're awake!” she gasped. “And you're back! Have – have you found her?” She took one look at Lucien, stifled a scream, then got a good look at Calixto's armour for the first time.

 

“Oh my,” she whispered, sinking into a chair. “You really aren't... you're really not run of the mill mercenaries, are you?”

 

“Afraid not,” said Calixto, reaching for his pack and checking all his healing potions and medical equipment was still in there. He had a horrible feeling Aranea would need them.

 

“Does Aranea know?” Milore whispered, hunching in on herself nervously. Then she shrugged and laughed. “Of course she does. I wondered how she'd stayed safe from the Tong for so long. You people have been protecting her all this time, haven't you?”

 

“She helped us, we gave her Sanctuary,” Lucien said gently, coming to crouch next to her. “You are Milore, aren't you? She used to mention you. Worried about you. Had us send word about Red Mountain. You don't need to be afraid, Milore. We take care of our Family.”

 

“Can you take care of Mogrul?” Milore said bitterly, before she could stop herself.

 

“Mogrul?” Cicero asked curiously. “Who is Mogrul? Is he in dire need of stabbing?”

 

“It doesn't matter,” said Milore hastily, not liking the eagerness in Cicero's eyes. Even if it would solve all her problems... but no. Boethiah's teachings always said it was wrong to wish death on someone if you were not prepared to wield the blade yourself. Besides she had a sister out there in trouble. “Have you got anywhere? Do you know where Aranea is?”

 

“We've got a lead, yes,” said Calixto, shouldering his gear. “We're meeting Sapphire and heading out there now. Don't worry, Milore. We'll get her back.”

 

“Yes, yes we shall!” Cicero giggled. “Do not fear, we will deal with the Tong and and bring sweet Aranea back in one piece!”

 

If she wasn't already... but Milore didn't want to think about that. So she gave them some potions for healing and stamina and poison resistance and waved them off. If the Dark Brotherhood couldn't take on the Tong and win, no one could.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Sapphire and Glover were waiting out by the Bulwark as promised, both clad in their Thieves Guild armour or rather, the Blackguard variant that was Glover's own invention. He'd gifted Sapphire and Sapphire alone with a set before leaving Riften – no one knew why, not even Delvin. Now here they both were, armed to the teeth and meeting the three Dark Brothers for a mission that wasn't even Glover's fight.

 

“Why is the smith here?” Cicero asked, confused. “He is not a Dark Brother. Why is he here?”

 

“I'm helping Sapphire out,” Glover growled, glaring at Cicero. “Can't have some Tong scumbags abducting the lady friends of my Guildmates, can I now?” He nodded warily at Calixto. “Sapphire told me about your little arrangement with this Aranea. Just so you know, I don't have a problem with it – but if my Sapphire's heart gets broken because of all this and it turns out to be your fault, I'll be coming after you, my friend. Dark Brother or not.”

 

“Noted,” said Calixto stiffly, backing off from Glover. Somehow, in his Guild armour, half-shadowed and face just visible under that hood, Glover looked a lot more menacing than he'd done at his forge.

 

“Glover!” Sapphire sighed, throwing up her hands in exasperation, eyes to the sky in silent pleas with Azura or the Night Mother to save her from well-meant interference. “Must you? You're not my father!”

 

Glover hesitated for the merest fraction of a second, before laughing quietly. “No, course not. Well, we all here then? Come on then, Ashfallow Citadel's this way.”

 

He led the way, Sapphire behind him, Calixto with her and Cicero and Lucien at the rear. Calixto didn't seem to have noticed anything unusual in Glover's manner, and Lucien, another non-parent, had noticed something but wasn't about to leap to any conclusions. But Cicero... oh, Cicero had seen and Cicero had noticed and Cicero knew. He'd seen someone with feelings like his own, very proud of his daughter and very protective. So Glover Mallory had had a liaison in his youth, hmm? And Sapphire clearly had no idea. Mysterious! And intriguing, very intriguing. Cicero felt very sympathetic towards the man – if Cicero had been able to remember Sylvana's face, he could well have ended up in the same boat. But things hadn't gone that way, and Cicero at least hadn't had to confess anything to Ria – it had become manifestly obvious once she'd taken that dragon soul.

 

Cicero would have to watch this one carefully and once this was all over, see if he could perhaps convince Glover Mallory to perhaps admit everything to Sapphire. They were both thieves, he even knew about her unconventional love life and her assassination career. He would not disapprove like Kodlak sometimes did of him, nor would Sapphire be likely to reject him like Ria had poor Cicero. No, it would be like Madanach and Eola, who adored each other anyway despite the differences between them. Sapphire deserved that in her life, and Cicero was after all very skilled at making sure people got what they deserved.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Aranea shut her eyes, crying out as Vendil Ulen's boot kicked her in the stomach again. This had been going on for what felt like hours, first the beatings, then the kicking, then the knives and pliers... Aranea was just glad her wrists were shackled above her – bad enough she could feel the blood dripping from the mangled remains of her left hand, it would probably be worse if she could see it.

 

“Still not feeling like talking?” Vendil asked, smirking as his hands traced over the array of tools spread out on the table next to him. “That is a pity. I already ruined one hand, I'd hate to have to do another. Fortunately I still have over half your teeth still to go.”

 

Aranea pointedly did not look at the bucket nearby that already had five teeth and two fingers lying in a pool of blood. Bastard fetching Morag Tong. She'd remembered going to sleep in the inn, Calixto off Azura knew where, then a hazy dream involving darkness and tentacles and backbreaking weariness and work – then she'd woken up here and known she was in trouble. She'd had misgivings about this Solstheim trip from the start but had gone anyway because Cicero needed here and why would the Tong be here? Except they were and they not only knew who she was, they knew who she'd joined.

 

“You're going to die, you know,” said Vendil calmly. “We honour our writs, no matter how long it takes. You should know what time is for a Dunmer. Did you really think we wouldn't know you? No, Aranea, your path ends here. It's merely a case of if it ends quickly or slowly. A quick death can be all yours, Aranea. All you have to do is tell us where the Brotherhood's Sanctuaries are. I know you're with them, I saw your brothers strutting around with the Hand itself on their armour. Little bit obvious, isn't it?”

 

“Fuck you,” Aranea gasped, spitting blood out. “I will tell you nothing.”

 

Vendil shrugged. “Have it your way then.” He picked up a set of pliers, reached for one of the fingers on her right hand, a dagger through the palm that had severed nerves, Aranea could tell, and took hold of the nail. Aranea screamed in pain as the nail came off, blood trickling down her arm as she sobbed in pain and the bloodied nail hit the bucket with the other body parts.

 

“My brothers will find you,” Aranea whispered when her vision finally cleared. “They will have their revenge.”

 

“You're hoping for a rescue?” Vendil asked, eyebrow raised. “My my, that's so touching. Well, it could happen. But you realise you're crippled for life now, don't you? Your hands are ruined. Can't cast, your smile's best not talked about – honestly, there's not going to be a lot left to rescue. The Brotherhood aren't going to bother saving someone who can't earn their keep.”

 

Aranea closed her eyes, silent prayer to Azura running through her head, a mantra that kept her sane, kept her focused and she could feel her, Lady Azura's love holding her, whispering to her that it was going to be all right, not to fear, to stay strong and not break.

 

“Azura will provide,” Aranea gasped. “I don't fear you, Vendil. Do your worst.” _Yes, do it, you don't know my lover. Whatever you do to me, he can heal – I have seen him work miracles in flesh. He cannot bring the dead back to life, but he can repair any injury to the living._

 

“Worst?” Vendil laughed, raising a dagger. “You have barely seen me get warmed up.” Aranea braced herself, and then she heard footsteps as Mirri Severin, that daughter or sister of his, ran in.

 

“Vendil,” Mirri gasped. “Vendil, I think they're on to us. Tilisu didn't come home, and she's not anywhere in Raven Rock. And... and someone's robbed the house! I don't know how but they've cracked the safe. I think they're coming here! Vendil, the game's up, we should run...”

 

“No,” Vendil hissed. “We have a Dark Brotherhood assassin under interrogation, you think I'm going to waste this? How often do any of us ever get the drop on the Traitor's brood?”

 

“Vendil!” Mirri cried. “That information won't be any use to us if we're all dead. Just kill the bitch and leave her as a warning! Plenty of other places on the island we can run to – Bloodskal Barrow's empty now.”

 

“Mirri, there are two of them,” Vendil sighed. “Those other three aren't assassins – not the type. Mercenaries most likely. Even if all five turn up, we're still a match for them. Just get the traps readied and everyone on alert. We'll be ready for them.”

 

Mirri ran off to rouse the rest of the fort while Vendil turned back to Aranea. “Now,” he said smoothly, “Where were we? Oh yes, ruining what remains of your life.” He took his dagger up and slashed open the front of her robes. “They will not succeed, but just in case, let's make sure you're left with a body to remember, hmm?”

 

Vendil's knife flicked down to Aranea's left nipple and Aranea screamed.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Silence over Ashfallow Citadel. Everyone out of bed, but so far, apart from that Brotherhood prisoner's screams, nothing out of the ordinary.

 

“See anything out there, Indaril?” Ravi asked. Indaril shook his head, crouched amongst a pile of ash on top of the citadel. The ashfall was particularly dense tonight, the aurora barely visible and the stars not there at all.

 

“Absolutely bugger all, brother,” Indaril replied. “Don't know what Mirri's so worked up about. Even the Dark Brotherhood aren't coming out to play in this.”

 

A breeze on the wind, like a whisper but not a sound from Ravi. Odd, Ravi was normally pretty talkative.

 

“Ravi?” Indaril asked, a faint prickling at his neck, and then he swore as he saw Ravi's dead body splayed out before him with blood pouring from an expertly slit throat. Standing over him was a ghost, a bloody ghost of all things, dressed in the Shrouded Robes of the hated Brotherhood, dagger dripping with Ravi's blood as the ash still managed to pass right through him.

 

“Afraid not,” the ghost purred in a husky baritone that sent shivers through Indaril's body and Indaril didn't consider himself a coward. “My name is Lucien Lachance.”

 

Indaril recognised the name, a notorious assassin from just before the Oblivion Crisis while the Brotherhood had been at their peak, who had been responsible for some of the most damaging operations the Brotherhood had carried out in Morrowind.

 

“Mephala help me,” Indaril whispered and then another voice was at his ear, warm breath on his throat.

 

“Mephala can't help you,” it purred. “Mephala's quite dead. Cicero _ate her!_ ” Then a knife slit Indaril's throat and he knew no more.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Sanore leapt to her feet as the door above opened. A bit early for the sentries to be changing shifts, wasn't it? Mirri had wanted as many on duty as could be spared, waiting all night in case the Brotherhood tried anything. There were five of them out there, Ravi and Indaril near the door and three others around the perimeter. An overreaction but you couldn't be too careful when it came to the Brotherhood.

 

“Did you hear something, Vandryl?” she whispered, snapping her fingers to get her colleague's attention. “I think the door opened.”

 

Vandryl looked at the stairs, seeing ash falling in through the door, but no one in sight.

 

“I don't like it,” Vandryl murmured, and he was a veteran of the Guild Wars, he'd seen the Brotherhood in action before. “There. In the shadows!”

 

Sure enough, the ashfall was stopping where it shouldn't, revealing the outline of a human figure. Before either Dunmer could react, a stocky Breton man had barrelled out of the shadows, face hidden under his black leather hood, one knife sinking into Vandryl's chest as he pounced on the elf. Sanore cried out, drawing her swords.

 

“You'll pay for that, son of Sithis!” she cried.

 

“He's not one,” a woman laughed from the shadows. “But I'm surely the Night Mother's daughter.”

 

Sanore looked down to see a gloved hand clutching a Daedric dagger, the blade of which had just sunk into her gut, angling upwards into her lungs.

 

“Oh,” Sanore gasped as blood bubbled up into her mouth. The man and woman moved silently into the citadel, before two other men and a ghost arrived behind them, weapons dripping with blood. The last thing Sanore saw before darkness claimed her was the dark eyes of a smiling red-haired jester who giggled as his dagger slit her throat and sent her to the Void.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Silence in the main corridor of Ashfallow Citadel but everyone was on edge. There'd been shouting from the entrance hall, but now nothing. In particular, none of the usual Morag Tong all-clear call signs. Concerning.

 

“They're here, aren't they?” Mareth whispered, readying her bow. Next to her, Savril and Daneri had their own weapons ready.

 

“Spread out,” Savril murmured, motioning for her to advance further down the left wall while Daneri did a forward roll across the hall to cover the other side. Easy to survey the corridor from here, easy to see them coming and pick them off with arrows while the gate in front of them protected them. In theory. In practice, no one expected the Brotherhood to come barging in down the central corridor.

 

Something moved on the far side of the gate, a flicker of blue light. Still no sound, but no self-respecting guild of assassins would make a noise while in hostile territory.

 

Another flicker of movement and then they all saw it, a ghostly figure in hooded robes gliding down the corridor towards them, axe in one hand, dagger in the other.

 

“Come out, Morag Tong,” he laughed. “Come out and face your deaths, deluded followers of a dead god. Give us Aranea and we will make your deaths quick.”

 

“Stay calm,” Savril murmured, bow trained on the ghost. “He's baiting us.”

 

Easy for him to say. Mareth was terrified. A ghost, a bloody ghost? Did even killing the Dark Brotherhood not stop them?? She'd killed one of them once, many years ago. She'd counted it a great victory and she'd laughed when Mirri had said to get ready for a fight. Let them come, she'd said. Now here they were, and she was shaking all over.

 

“No?” the ghost asked, inclining his head. “Perhaps a reminder of who you face would help. I am Lucien Lachance, perhaps you've heard of me?”

 

Heard of him? _Heard of him??_ All the Tong had heard that name. Lucien Lachance, who in his youth had worked out of Morrowind, taking particular pleasure in hunting down Tong members, capturing and torturing them, ruthlessly leading raids and wiping out entire Tong bases, surviving no less than ten Tong assassination attempts and taking twenty assassins down in the process. All the Tong had breathed a sigh of relief when they'd heard he'd died, killed by the Brotherhood themselves. And now his ghost walked? Nothing had prepared Mareth for this.

 

A whimper from Daneri and then his fingers slipped and an arrow shot right past Lucien.

 

“There!” Lucien snapped, and magic shot out from the shadows on the other side, a strange spell that hit Daneri... and promptly turned him into a sabre cat.

 

“Dan?” Mareth gasped and then the beast, confused and enraged and worst of all, trapped behind a cage in a dark tunnel, turned on them both. Mareth screamed, breaking cover as she dived away, Savril rolling in the other direction and the cat leaping on to him. Savril fought bravely but the cat had already savaged him well by the time he'd swapped bow for sword and he only got in a couple of blows before it ripped him apart. Then it turned baleful eyes on to her.

 

“Dan!” she cried. “Dan, it's me!” The cat didn't seem to even hear her, leaping forward. She managed to get a shot in before diving out of the way as its claws raked her side. Her sword was up in time though and she struck back. On and on this went, circling around, trading blows, but she'd always been fast. The cat that had been Daneri finally fell dead and she sank to the floor, weeping softly. Savril and Daneri, her mentor and her best friend, gone for good.

 

“You bastards,” she gasped, dizzy from the blood loss. “You'll pay for this!”

 

Giggling from a dark corner, high-pitched yet male and definitely definitely insane. Then a thud to the chest and Mareth stared at the rear of an ebony arrow protruding from her ribcage, expertly aimed to go right between two of her ribs by what was clearly a master marksman.

 

Mareth slumped to the floor, eyes staring up in horror as the gate slid open, someone clearly having found the catch, and the ghost glided forward. The last thing Mareth saw was Lucien Lachance's spectral grey eyes gazing down at her as he added yet another Morag Tong scalp to his belt.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Lucien stepped over the dead assassins as he motioned for the others to advance. Cicero and Calixto ventured up the left side, virtually invisible in the shadows, Cicero whispering _“Laas Yah Nir!_ ”and indicating the way was clear. On the other side of the corridor, Sapphire and Glover moved forward and vanished down a side tunnel, and the opening of the next gate meant they'd found the catch for that one. Really, Lucien had to wonder about the intelligence of someone who'd design a fortification and then put the release on the outside so intruders could just walk in. Had the Imperials who built this place done it, or had this been added by the Tong? He hoped it was the Tong, for the Legion to be that sloppy was just embarrassing.

 

Pressure plates ahead, all expertly avoided by the assassins, but no chain in sight. The only place it was likely to be was in that alcove off to the right, also protected by traps. How very vexing.

 

“Leave it to me,” Glover murmured, slinking off, darting around the traps with the agility of a man half his age. “Go get your girl, Saffi.”

 

Sapphire nodded as she joined her fellow Dark Brothers. It wasn't long before the last gates opened and the central chamber opened up.

 

“Let's get in there,” Sapphire whispered, hoping that whimpering and sobbing wasn't Aranea. Calixto touched her on the arm, whispering to both her and Cicero.

 

“I think that Severin girl's in there. Can you leave her unharmed?”

 

Both Sapphire and Cicero slowly turned to him, wondering if perhaps their brother was actually going out of his mind.

 

“Bro,” Sapphire sighed, “did you perhaps miss the part where we're here to slaughter the sons of bitches?”

 

“They are heretics, brother!” said Cicero, nodding in agreement. “They deny the power of the Dread Father and the loving authority of Our Mother. They must die and die in pain!”

 

“Yes, yes, I know all that,” said Calixto softly. “Only I don't know what they've done to Aranea. I'm very much afraid I might need a... donor.”

 

Sapphire bit her lip, a little whimper escaping her mouth, and she looked horrified but nodded assent. Cicero just giggled, cruel little smile crossing his lips.

 

“Oh yes!” he giggled. “Cicero understands. Cicero shall leave her to the Butcher, never fear. Come, come, let us enter!”

 

The four assassins crept into the room, a large circular one. On the far side was a man in Morag Tong armour recognisable as Vendil Severin or Ulen or whatever he was really called. And chained to the wall...

 

“YOU BASTARD!” Sapphire howled, Mehrunes Razor in one hand and her Akaviri blade in the other as she broke cover and sprinted towards him, losing all reason as she saw the bloodstained, mutilated mess that was Aranea.

 

Mirri darted out of the shadows, firing an arrow at Sapphire and missing. Calixto didn't though, the paralysis spell catching Mirri and bringing her down. From the other side of the room, another assassin broke cover, swords out as he tried to intercept Sapphire before she reached Vendil.

 

He'd not reckoned on a Dragonborn.

 

“FUS RO DAH!” The Shout sent the luckless assassin flying and Cicero leapt gleefully after him, daggers raised. Sapphire ignored the two of them, knowing Cicero would deal with the problem. Just Vendil now, and she would see him sent screaming to the Void.

 

“Come to avenge your friend, have you?” Vendil laughed. “I thought you might. Come then, Dark Sister, show me what you've got.”

 

Hours spent training with Cicero and sparring with Eola blade to blade. An awful lot of stabbings carried out in the last year. Being around serial killers and dragons and Forsworn cannibals and psychotic jesters and no longer really fearing anything. A powerful Daedric artefact in her hands. But most of all, absolute love and adoration for the maimed and bleeding woman shackled up behind this bastard and nothing left to lose. Sapphire might be a thief and assassin and a half-blood if she'd but known it, but she had Nord blood from her mother and some things were too deep-rooted to be denied.

 

“I WILL SEND YOU TO THE VOID!” Sapphire howled, and for the briefest of moments, Vendil's composure flickered and his hands shook, the primal Nord battle-cry being enough to chill anyone's blood. It would chill his rather more permanently. Sapphire leapt on to him, Mehrunes' Razor at the ready, and Vendil's blood arched into the air as she carved into him, howling and stabbing in a blood-crazed rage, heedless of anything other than that he'd hurt her lover and must suffer in turn. Sapphire lost track of the world, lost track of everything other than the blood and screaming and the corpse of the fetcher lying beneath her. Lost track of it all until strong masculine hands grabbed her shoulders and hauled her away.

 

“You got him luv, well done, the bastard's dead, you can stop stabbing him now.”

 

Sapphire tried to shrug him off, tried to get back to carving Vendil up like he'd done Aranea but Glover was not a weakling and wasn't letting Sapphire go in a hurry.

 

“He... he hurt her... I need to...” Sapphire gasped through her tears. Glover held her to him, keeping a tight grip until the madness started to fade.

 

“You killed him. It's done,” Glover whispered. “You did it, sweetheart, you did it. It's all right. I got you. It's all right.”

 

“Glover,” Sapphire sobbed, something in his voice reassuring her, some emotional reflex responding to the soothing cadence of Glover Mallory holding her against his chest and stroking her hair. It was going to be all right. It would be. She was safe and loved and as long as she tried not to think about Aranea in pain and bleeding... She looked up to see Calixto kneeling by Aranea's side, unlocking her using the key Cicero had just retrieved from Vendil's remains and catching her as she collapsed in his arms.

 

“Cal,” Aranea gasped, spitting out another loosened tooth. “Cal, help... help me...”

 

“I will,” Calixto whispered, devastated but not so much that his mind wasn't already cataloguing the damage and how to fix it. Then he saw the bucket of body parts swimming in blood and he was half tempted to raise Vendil's corpse and have a go himself. But that wouldn't help Aranea.

 

“My bag, Cicero,” was all Calixto said as he laid Aranea on the ground. “Then go and get our donor over here.”

 

Cicero happily obliged, giggling and cackling to himself as he did so. Yes, his little brother might be insane but the little psychopath certainly had his uses.

 

“Now give me that purple potion – thank you. All right, Aranea, drink this. It's sleeping potion, it'll have you out in seconds. Just drink... and sleep... close your eyes... trust in Lady Azura... it's all going to be fine...” Aranea was unconscious by that point and that was definitely a mercy.

 

“Brother, there is no more, do we not need any for the donor?” Cicero asked, poking at Mirri's paralysed form.

 

“Sleeping potion is expensive and hard to obtain ingredients for, that was all Milore had,” Calixto explained as he laid Aranea out next to Mirri. “We have to prioritise, Cicero. Aranea needs to be unconscious for this or she will be frightened and in pain, but I see no need for the donor to be anaesthetised.”

 

“Ooh, ooh!” Cicero squealed, clearly impressed, mouth curving into a delighted grin. “I do like the way you think, brother. Can Cicero watch?”

 

“As a matter of fact, yes, I'll need an assistant, one with a strong stomach, who's not put off by blood and screaming. You'll do.”

 

Cicero clapped his hands and knelt on Mirri's other side, all ready to help with Lucien peering over his shoulder, also fascinated. Calixto looked up to where Sapphire was watching from Glover's arms.

 

“Cal, please, will she be all right?” Sapphire pleaded, tears rolling down her face. Calixto nodded, although he wasn't entirely sure this was going to be the case.

 

“I think so, but you shouldn't be here for this. It'll get... messy. Go on, go. Glover, go with her, look after her will you?”

 

“Yeah, course,” Glover murmured, helping Sapphire up and leading her away. Calixto watched them leave then turned back to Cicero.

 

“Right. Pliers please, Cicero. Let's get Aranea some new teeth, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nasty piece of work, Vendil Ulen, but the Tong are wiped off Solstheim and with no witnesses left alive to take the story back to the mainland. And Aranea will be all right in the end. Cal knows what he's doing, and she's mentally very resilient.
> 
> The Firefly reference was the bit where Geldis grabs Sapphire's drink off her and tells her the best sujammas are on the house.


	17. Family Reclaimed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calixto may have fixed the physical damage, but Aranea will have the mental scars for a long time to come. Meanwhile Sapphire has her own problems - a traumatised girlfriend to look after and not knowing how to deal with a certain thief and his reactions to her. And on the other side of Solstheim, Ria's having some success in her own mission, but the actions of another enemy mean she's got one less ally at her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, still there? I am feeling a bit guilty over last chapter, I wonder if I went a bit too far... So, without further ado, here is the next chapter, in which the Dark Brotherhood deal with the aftermath of the raid, and we catch up with Ria and company.

Sapphire hadn't said a word as Glover had led her out of the fort. She'd just followed as he'd taken her through the falling ash, heading west to the river to wash the blood off. He made a point of keeping watch with his back turned so she could have some privacy at least. Finally, she was done, or as done as she was going to get anyway. 

“I'll smith you another set if you like,” said Glover gruffly, not looking at her as he starting washing his own face and hands. 

“You don't have to,” Sapphire whispered. “Not the first time I've stabbed someone in it.”

“Bet you don't usually stab them quite that much,” said Glover. “You were, er, pretty enthusiastic about sorting that fetcher out. Not that he didn't deserve it, but that was a lot of blood.”

“I've seen worse,” Sapphire said, remembering that night in the bandit camp when she'd crept out of the chief's bed, taken his weapons and set about slicing the throats of them all. She'd not seen so much blood before or since as she'd cut her way to freedom.

“I daresay you have,” Glover said, getting up, shaking the excess water off his skin and leading her back to the fort. “Come on, let's see if your boys are done yet.”

Needless to say, screams were still echoing down the corridor when they got back, but mercifully not Aranea's. Just that Morag Tong bitch suffering then. Good. Maybe Mirri hadn't actually had a hand in torturing Aranea herself, but she'd aided and abetted and according to Cal, been the one to carry out the actual abduction. As far as Sapphire was concerned, the bitch could bleed. They all could. Then she thought of Aranea and felt the tears rolling again.

“Come on, in here,” said Glover gently, steering her into what was evidently the alchemy and enchanting laboratory and closing the door behind them. Sapphire collapsed onto a bench, head in her hands and then Glover, good old Glover was there, arms around her, letting her rest her head on his chest and bawl her eyes out.

“Saffi, gods Saffi, it's all right, I've got you, I'm here,” Glover crooned, holding on to her as he stroked her hair, gently kissing the top of her head as she howled in his arms, finally just able to let go and let it all out, and quite why she felt so safe and so loved around him, she didn't know. But she did and she was glad of it. There weren't many men out there who genuinely cared about her without just wanting to get laid. Her Dark Brothers of course, but Calixto's affection was always a bit muted and business-like and Cicero's didn't really convey a feeling of safety. When Cicero cuddled you, it always felt like a little boy curling up in his mother's arms or his sister's arms, wanting reassurance himself not giving it. 

With Glover it just felt safe and comfortable and she didn't think he fancied her. She hoped not anyway. She didn't want it to end up like Arnbjorn all over again – she'd thought she'd found a friend and mentor and maybe, just maybe, he might let her be with his beautiful wife if she played her cards right, and then it turned out he fancied her after all and then Astrid had found out, and after six years in the Brotherhood she was homeless again. She still couldn't go to Dawnstar even today, couldn't really stand to be around either of them. Two friendships broken beyond repair.

No chance of that with Glover – probably not anyway. You could never be sure with men, although she was sure by this time that Calixto had no such designs on her, and Cicero definitely didn't – he flirted with her like he flirted with everyone but would probably scream and run away if she actually tried anything.

“Glover,” she whispered. “You don't have to do this, you know. But thank you.”

“No problem, sweetheart,” Glover murmured. “Told you, you ever need anything, anything at all, you come find me. I'll make sure you're all right.”

“I'm not even paying you for this,” Sapphire whispered. “You could have stayed in Raven Rock.”

“My Sapphire's lady friend's been kidnapped, I'm not going to sit on my arse in bleeding Raven Rock while you go off into danger,” Glover growled, tightening his grip. “Course I came with you. Knew you'd need help.”

Sapphire felt her mental alarm bells going off again. Something wasn't right, something was going on that she didn't know about, else why all the cuddling and stroking her hair and calling her his Sapphire and doing all this without even asking a price. This wasn't how the Guild operated, even good friends would have said to just owe a favour and leave it at that. And the only reason she could think of for a man to just let it go like that when a younger woman needed assistance was the same old reason they all had at the end of the day. 

She shoved Glover away like she'd been burned, heart breaking all over again.

“I told you, I don't feel that way about you,” she snapped, getting off the bench and walking away.

“Saff, wait, that's not... Saff, I know you don't, that's not what I meant!” Glover cried, getting up and walking towards her. Sapphire couldn't stop herself flinching as his hand touched her shoulder and he paused then let her go. 

“I'm not after sexual favours, I promise you, kid,” Glover whispered, but he sounded heartbroken and oh gods, that was actually worse, she could have dealt with lust. She wasn't at all sure she wanted to deal with Glover Mallory being in love with her, knowing she didn't feel the same and still stubbornly being all noble about it anyway.

“Glover, I'm sorry,” Sapphire whispered, folding her arms and fighting back the tears. “I'm not in love with you, you're a good friend but that's all. I'm not your Sapphire, I never will be. You need to move on, find a girlfriend, get married or something. Don't waste your life pining over me, Glover.”

“I ain't pining over you, sweetheart,” Glover said quietly, and there he was, right at her shoulder again, not touching her but definitely, definitely there.

“No?” Sapphire whispered. “Then why'd you leave Riften? We were friends, buddies, you taught me more than even Brynjolf did, and then after a year you just pack up and leave, with just a note and a set of armour left for me, and you didn't even say properly why, only that you couldn't be in Riften any more and not to come looking for you. You didn't have any enemies, Glover, there wasn't a price on your head!” She finally turned to face him, seeing the guilt in his eyes, the guilt and the sorrow, and she knew she was getting there. “It was because of me, wasn't it? You left because of me. Because you loved me and knew I didn't feel the same, never would and you couldn't stand it any more.”

He wouldn't meet her eyes. Sapphire felt tears start to well up again, a lump in her throat and just the disappointment, at life, in men, everything and why, why did it always have to come down to sex in the end?

“I think you'd better go,” Sapphire whispered. Glover didn't even respond, just nodding and turning away and he was heartbroken, she could tell, but what could she do? Nothing. Nothing at all. Just let him go and get over her in peace, like he'd most likely spent the last five years trying to do. The sad thing was she adored him too, she just didn't want to have sex with him.

Glover left, the door closing behind him and Sapphire sank back on to the bench. A friend lost, her girlfriend hurt and she had no one left to turn to. Just herself. As always. Head in her hands, Sapphire began to cry.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

She didn't know how long she'd been there. She'd found a Morag Tong bed and fallen asleep on it, too tired to really think any more which was probably for the best. It wasn't until something woke her, the sense of someone watching her, that her eyes flicked open and Sapphire remembered what had happened.

Hard to forget with Cicero standing by the bed grinning down at her, still wiping blood off his hands.

“Sister, sister, you're awake!” he cooed, finishing the clean up and pulling his gloves back on. 

Sapphire shook her head, rubbing her eyes and realising that if Cicero was here... 

“Aranea!” she gasped and Cicero skipped to one side, waving at another bed on the far side of the room where Calixto was kneeling next to it, holding the hand of a familiar face with grey skin and red hair. Calixto looked up, placing a finger to his lips, but he was smiling and he beckoned her over. Leaving Cicero behind, she flung herself off the bed, dropping to her knees at Aranea's side.

She was still asleep and she looked far more haggard and pale than Sapphire would have liked, but she seemed at peace and much improved on how she'd been before. She was naked under the furs, the robes clearly having been declared beyond saving. A spare set of Shrouded Robes was piled next to the bed for her to wear later but Sapphire had a feeling it'd be a while before they were able to move her.

“Is she all right?” Sapphire whispered, tracing a finger across Aranea's face. Calixto nodded.

“It went as well as it could have. Cosmetic issues all fixed although there's some very faint scars. Bit of a difference in skin tone where I had to graft donor parts on but it'll fade. She should have full use of her hands when she does wake up though.”

Sapphire looked at Aranea's hands, just visible above the furs, whole, complete, two of the fingers slightly paler than the others, but otherwise fine. Sapphire lifted the covers and risked a look underneath and while there was something different about her left breast and a few fine scar lines crossing her abdomen, you wouldn't have known she'd been suffering abuse and torture just a few hours prior.

“She's OK,” Sapphire whispered, finally feeling able to smile. “You did it.”

Calixto nodded and then the two of them were hugging, both relieved and happy that this might, just might, be all right after all.

“I don't know what she'll be like mentally though,” Calixto whispered in her ear. “She's had an awful time of it. Mind-healing's really not my area of expertise, that was always her subject.”

“It's OK, Cal,” Sapphire whispered, too happy to worry. “We'll look after her. And that priest friend of hers, Othreloth, he might be able to help too.”

Calixto let her go, anxiety not entirely allayed but smiling nonetheless as he turned his attention back to Aranea.

Behind them, Cicero skipped back over, having wandered outside to give them a bit of privacy. He was frowning, something clearly bothering him.

“Sister, where is Glover? Cicero cast Aura Whisper but there is no one here but the three of us and Lucien, who also says he hasn't seen the smith anywhere. Did something happen? Did you... quarrel?”

Damn. She might as well admit it. Embarrassing, but they may as well know.

“I sent him back to Raven Rock,” Sapphire said wearily. “We – we didn't argue, not exactly. It's just, he did all this and wasn't asking a price, not even a favour, and that's not how the Guild works. Doesn't take a genius to work out he'd fallen in love with me, even though I'd told the stupid fetcher I didn't feel the same.”

“Ouch,” said Calixto, arm around her shoulders. “Always awkward, that. So you confronted him and he either admitted it or didn't deny it and you sent him away, correct?”

“That's about the size of it,” Sapphire sighed. “Dammit, Cal, why does this always happen? You think a guy's your friend, everything is peachy, he's being lovely and then it turns out no, he fancied you all along.”

“I can't say I'm entirely familiar with the problem myself,” Calixto replied, hugging her. “But I can honestly say you won't have that problem with me. Not only are you not my type, after living with you for the best part of a year, I can definitively say there's no chance of me developing feelings for you. Not having seen the state you usually leave the kitchen in.”

Sapphire gasped in mock outrage, poking Calixto in the ribs. “You're one to talk, your workroom is a disgrace and as for the experiments at all hours... next time I'm woken up by a winged rabbit, you're toast.”

“Accidents will happen,” Calixto shrugged. “And those experiments just saved our girlfriend, so less of the complaining, thank you.”

This was indeed true, and strange experiments involving corpses and animals with other animal parts grafted to them were a small price to pay for the ability to get the impossible to fix fixed.

Cicero was tilting his head, looking very confused. “But... Cicero thought... did he not say... did he tell you he was in love with you?”

“He didn't have to, Cicero, I could see it in his eyes. He keeps saying he's not into me that way, but I can tell he's hiding something.”

Cicero's expression softened and now he was looking at her rather sadly. 

“Sapphire, Sapphire, sweet Sapphire, dear Sapphire,” he purred, gliding over and cuddling into her other side. “That is sad news, very sad indeed. But you are still friends, yes? He was not angry? Did not try to hurt you or force you?”

“No, he was the same old sweetheart he always is,” Sapphire sighed, frustrated. “That's what makes this so hard! Guy was heartbroken. I feel horrible, but what was I supposed to say? I'm not stringing him on.”

Cicero nestled in to her, patting her leg. “Sweet sister, there was nothing else you could say, if he would not speak. Do not fret. Just take care of Aranea, if Glover is truly your friend he will understand.”

“You know, considering he's a halfwit at best, he occasionally comes out with something quite insightful,” Calixto said, closing his eyes.

“Cicero isn't a halfwit!” Cicero snapped, glaring at his brother. Sapphire grinned and ruffled his hair.

“Course you're not, Cicero. You're very smart really, aren't you?”

Cicero nodded, closing his eyes as well. 

“Mama always said I was very bright for my age,” Cicero murmured sleepily. “Mama said it was all she could do to keep up...” Silence then soft breathing as Cicero dozed off on her shoulder. Sapphire was about to point it out to Calixto before she realised he was asleep too. Bless them both. It was nice having brothers again. Closing her own eyes, she let sleep claim her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aranea opened her eyes, head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton wool, her mouth dry, throat raw, aching all over... what in Azura's name had happened?

She blinked, opening her eyes, wincing as unfamiliar magic bound her skin, and her magicka wasn't what it should be, something was draining off it, not a lot but a constant low drain. The spells on her hands, wrapped around her, on her face, spells woven into her skin, who put them there, who...?

She looked up at the ceiling and remembered.

The scream had three figures slouched next to the bed sitting up and looking around blinking, and then the ghost sprinted across the room to take her hand, the cold of his touch shocking her into silence... but she'd know him anywhere.

“Lucien,” she gasped. “Oh gods Lucien, it's you, it's you, you're dead, oh gods.” She grabbed his hand as best she could – he could grasp objects just fine but touching him was always a bit of a gamble. But he was here, her Lucien, her old protector, the one who'd loved her madly and fought the Tong through alley and temple, Great House and cornerclub, all to weaken them and keep her safe.

“Ssshh, Aranea. Ssshhh, it's alright. You're safe. They hurt you, but you're better now. You're safe.”

“Lucien,” Aranea whispered, shaking and terrified and she'd never forget Vendil's face as long as she lived. “Lucien, you – how?”

“Did I not promise you all those years ago I would never let them harm you,” Lucien whispered. “Of course I came for you.”

“Of course you did,” Aranea whispered, feeling her heartbeat slow and the panic subside. Even death couldn't stop her Lucien. But if he was here, that must mean...

“SISTER!” Cicero's head popped up, manic grin in place. “You are awake! And alive! But are you well? Do you know me? Do you remember humble Cicero?”

Of course she did, Cicero was the least forgettable person she'd ever met.

“Yes, my brother, I know you,” Aranea whispered, starting to smile. Dear, faithful, loyal Cicero. Maybe he was a naughty little handful, but when it came right down to it, he was the best of them all. “Did you get them all? Are they all dead? None left to tell the story?”

Cicero's softened and he nodded. 

“We stabbed them all, sweet sister. No one will be returning to Morrowind's mainland with news of your whereabouts. Aranea need not worry.”

“Aranea!” Now that was odd, that was a woman but not Aela or Ria, in fact it sounded like...

Sapphire shoved Cicero out of the way and pounced and next thing Aranea knew she was being cuddled fiercely by her girlfriend, her beautiful, loving, fierce jewel of a woman. Sapphire, here, warm, alive, not her usual tough as nails exterior either but tears in her eyes.

“You're melting,” Aranea whispered. A little in-joke between them – Sapphire would always say how warm she was and Aranea would whisper back that no, it was Sapphire who was the cold one, a beautiful ice princess from the cold Nordlands. Fire and ice, their little joke – but now the ice appeared to be thawing. Sapphire put a hand to her mouth, nodding as she choked back tears and then she was cuddling her again, sobbing quietly on to her shoulder. 

Cicero had slipped away by this point, and another Imperial had joined them. Calixto, dear faithful Calixto, who didn't emote about a lot, but did for her, smiling faintly at her now and clutching her hand, which didn't hurt at all, in fact it looked fine and moved just fine and...

“Cal,” Aranea whispered, feeling magic binding her hands together and knowing whose it was, even though it was drawing on her magicka. “Cal, what happened? What did you do?”

“Vendil hurt you,” he said softly. “So I put you back together.”

Aranea focused, trying to sense what spells he'd used, and there was Restoration and Alteration bound in to it all, yes but a strong overlay of Illusion and it wasn't changing the appearance either, it was woven into the very flesh.

“Cal,” Aranea said, feeling vaguely nauseous. “Cal, did you graft someone else's body parts onto me?”

“Maybe?” Calixto said quietly. “But don't worry, it's perfectly safe, over time you'll not even notice the difference, in fact give it long enough and there'll be no difference, your body and the magic I used will have converted them into the same flesh as the rest of you...”

“Cal, the last three things you did this to all died horribly within weeks!” Aranea cried, starting to panic again. Oh gods, oh gods, what was her brilliant but quite mad lover thinking??

“You didn't tell me that!” Sapphire shouted, looking up with fury in her eyes and Lucien and Cicero were also glaring at him.

“Yes, yes, but I know where I was going wrong!” Calixto protested, holding up his hands. “That's why the Illusion spells, they trick your body into thinking they're really yours and not turning on them. Which means you won't die! Probably. I haven't actually tested it on a living person before, but I tried it on a wolf and it survived for three months before I finally killed it.”

Aranea's eyes had gone very still, fixed in a glacial and unblinking stare, and her fingers were flexing with fire in them. Calixto had seen it too, and while part of him was pleased that it really had all worked and she could still cast, most of him preferred not to find that out first-hand.

“Anyway, you and Sapphire probably have a lot to talk about so I'll be going, goodbye!” Calixto promptly fled the room, no doubt to take cover until Aranea had finally calmed down. He would probably have to wait some time, judging from the look on Aranea's face.

“One of these days, I will actually murder that man, and Delphine will hear why and pronounce it justified,” Aranea said quietly. “Do I even want to know whose they were?”

“Mirri Severin's!” Cicero chirped. “But don't worry about her, she won't be needing them any more. Cicero finished her off when we were done, she's quite dead.” Aranea's gaze turned on him as well and Cicero gulped nervously.

“Cicero should probably keep his dear brother company,” he said hastily before sprinting out of the room, Lucien having to follow which was a shame, Aranea liked having Lucien around, he was sane. But she still had Sapphire and that was always a good thing.

“Don't be too hard on him, 'Nea,” Sapphire whispered, snuggling next to her. “He put you back together again. You didn't see...”

“No, but I felt it,” Aranea said, closing her eyes and trying to force the memories away, pulling Sapphire to her, soft skin, delightfully cold against hers, human, female, not the Tong, not the Tong, her lover, here, come to find her. “How did you even get here anyway?”

“Got your letter, got all the things, brought them over,” Sapphire said, stroking her hair. “Then Cal told me about the mind control and then we found out you'd been taken... sweetie, I've been so worried, thank Sithis you're all right.”

Aranea didn't reply, just letting Sapphire hold her. She wasn't all right, not by a long shot. She'd not feared the Tong in a long time but they'd found her at last and she realised just how vulnerable she was. What if they came to Windhelm, what if there were Dunmer there who might send word, oh gods, there were Hlaalus living there, what if they...

“It's all right,” Sapphire whispered, cradling her in her arms and Aranea realised she'd been talking out loud. “Sweetie, no one will harm you, I swear. No one's going to lay a finger on the Stone-Killer's girl. Belyn doesn't care about Great House politics, he's just a farmer trying to get by. We'll take you back to Skyrim and you'll be safe.”

Safe. The word didn't sound as strong as it once had. Just like Sanctuary didn't mean you were completely protected there – she'd learnt that from Falkreath. But here and now, curled in her lover's arms, she was willing to believe in the illusion for just a bit longer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The Water Stone loomed above in the evening sky, sick shard of green light firing into the stars. Did it stop eventually or keep going on forever? Ria didn't know, but she didn't like the idea of it just continuing. Seemed an offence against the gods somehow. 

There were a few builders working on the Stone, quarrying and fetching and building, chanting as they worked. Reavers mostly, but there were a couple of Skaal and one or two Raven Rock Dunmer there as well. All were oblivious to the three Companions.

“Now what,” Vilkas said quietly, shivering at the thought he'd been like this himself until only a few hours ago. 

“Now we free them,” Ria whispered. “Weapons ready, as soon as I do this, a Lurker's going to emerge from that water pit. Hopefully just one.” One was more than enough to deal with, in all honesty. Vilkas nodded grimly and unsheathed his Bloodskal Blade, and Aela readied her bow. Ria took a deep breath and readied herself.

“GOL!”

Shout hit Stone, and she felt rather pleased with herself at the involuntary gasp that came from Vilkas's lips. He still wasn't used to it. Nor was she yet, but seeing Vilkas in awe was something she intended to make the most of.

The ground shook, power boiled through the Stone and the stonework around it began to glow and crack. Magic blazed and then it exploded and the Stone came free, dazed workers shaking their heads and wondering what happened.

“You did it,” Vilkas breathed. “You actually did it!”

“Done all four so far!” Ria laughed. “Cicero thinks I need the practice.” Cicero also refused to use the Bend Will Shout. He didn't have a lot of limits, but that apparently was one he refused to cross. It was rather sweet actually – his main reason was that he was afraid he might use it on his wife and that would be beyond bad. Then there was the babbling she'd heard the other night, Cicero pacing the room while he thought she was sleeping, whispering it might not be so bad, then shaking his head and frantically whispering _what if Cicero used it on Mother??_ Then a sly grin and a murmured _then she might speak to me. To sweet Cicero! Cicero as Listener, Cicero giving orders!_ Then a gasp of horror and _no, no, that will not do at all! Cicero cannot... must not! It is not Cicero's place, she chose Delphine, not me! We do not steal from our brothers and sisters!_

He'd gone quiet after that but in the morning he'd clung on to her and begged her to make sure he never learned any more of that Shout. She'd had no idea what to make of it, but she'd promised. It had calmed him down anyway and he'd been his usual stab-happy crazy little self after that. 

She missed him. And as a Lurker burst from the water, howling and burbling its rage as it came for the destroyer of Miraak's shrine, Ria missed him even more. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Of course, the Reavers had mostly fled when the thing had attacked, although a few brave souls lurked nearby, probably waiting to loot their corpses. They'd be waiting a long time, Aela thought grimly as she fired at the Lurker. Companions were hard to kill. 

Dragonborns were even harder. Ria's sword-blows were carving into the Lurker while her Blades armour absorbed most of the damage from its tentacles. Even so, she was starting to tire, and even Vilkas looked a little exhausted. Nevertheless they kept at it, Vilkas's rather fancy new sword firing energy beams into the Lurker while Ria's Blades sword did its work. Ria had even breathed fire over it, causing Vilkas to swear and nearly drop his weapon, but he'd recovered. Never mind. Aela was sure he'd get used to it in time. Right now, she was more focused on making sure that Lurker died.

A web of tentacles smacked into Ria and she shrieked as they enveloped her.

“RIA!” Vilkas cried, allowing his concentration to break. The Lurker turned on him, spitting poison at him too, and he staggered back, overwhelmed.

“Vilkas!” Aela shouted, firing off another arrow. “Get up.”

Which was easier said than done when you had tentacles trying to drag you to the ground, but Vilkas was trying. Aela just feared he might rally too late.

Then there was another howl, this time one that sent chills down even Aela's spine, and the remaining Reavers decided now was a good time to flee. A good thing too as a werewolf raced up on all fours and pounced on the Lurker, a swipe of its claws sending it flying. Frostmoon, one of Frostmoon, it had to be. Come to help? Aela hoped so. 

Ria staggered free of the tentacles and Vilkas crawled over to help her up, both of them clinging to each other while the other werewolf clawed the Lurker.

“That's not Aela,” Ria gasped, looking over Vilkas's shoulder to where Aela was firing at the Lurker. 

“Solstheim's had werewolves for centuries,” Vilkas said, eyes narrowed. “That does not make them our friends.” But then he shrugged as he reached for his sword again. “However, if it hates Lurkers, I suppose I can live with it.”

The fight resumed and this time it wasn't long before the Lurker was breathing its last. The werewolf rolled off and dived into the scathecraw, limping but still standing. Aela shouldered her bow and went to see if Vilkas and Ria were all right.

“How are you both?” 

Ria didn't respond, still staring after the werewolf, fascinated.

“There's more of you!” she whispered in amazement. Aela could only shake her head.

“Yes of course there's others, you didn't think we were the only ones?” Aela sighed. “Ria, we're not even the first. And you're not supposed to know about that, so keep your mouth shut.”

“Aela,” said Vilkas, slight growl to his voice. “Leave Ria alone.” He indicated the woman now emerging in fur armour, dagger at her waist and bow and arrows over her shoulder. “And you might also want to explain how you know her, because she clearly knows you.”

“Aela!” Hjordis gasped, racing over to her. “Aela, thank Hircine I found you. Please, I need your help...”

“Oh, she's a friend of yours?” Ria asked, curious. “Hello, I'm Ria.”

Hjordis barely spared Ria a second glance, just nodding in her direction and turning back to Aela, desperation in her every move.

“Help, is it?” Aela said, frowning. “I distinctly remember that last time we met, you chewed me out for not being a pure enough werewolf, for consorting with humans and not being content to live under a crag in the middle of nowhere.”

“I know,” said Hjordis softly. “Please, hear me out. I need your help, and there's no one else I trust.”

Aela had to wonder whether this was a good idea, but something in Hjordis's eyes, the sheer desperation and fear, the fact that even after their last argument, the harsh words they'd exchanged, she was still willing to swallow her pride and come to Aela for help, that said something.

“What about the rest of your pack?” Aela asked. “Can't they help?”

Hjordis put her hand to her mouth, tears welling up in her eyes, and Aela felt her stomach clench as she realised why Hjordis might want help and why her pack might not be able to give it.

“What happened?” Aela whispered, trying not to think of them all dead. Akar might have been a bit standoffish but Magni had been kind and Rakel hadn't even been out of her teens.

“Werebears,” Hjordis whispered. “I went out to hunt, just to get a bit of peace, and when I came back, they'd ransacked the place. Killed all three of them. Akar, Magni, Rakel, they're all...” Hjordis couldn't even finish the sentence before she was crying, sobbing her heart out. Aela went to her, her heart going out to a fellow werewolf in need. To lose not one but two packs to these monsters – Hjordis must be heartbroken and honour demanded Aela help out however she could. She went over to Hjordis and put an arm round her, the two women hugging. 

“Do you want revenge?” Aela whispered, stroking her back. Hjordis shook her head. 

“Not exactly,” she whispered. “I mean, yes I'd like to avenge my packmates, all of them. I'd like territory or a new pack, I want them stopped. But they ravaged our camp. We didn't have a lot, a few weapons, clothes, hunting supplies. But we did have something, a treasure Magni kept close, a gift of Hircine himself. Four rings of power, and if you're wearing one when you transform, you are gifted with its power in beast form. They're unique, they're priceless, they're the only things of value we had and the werebears stole them.” She looked up tearfully, face set in a grim mask. “Help me get those rings back, Aela. Help me and... and I'll join you. I'll come back to Skyrim with you, form a pack with you, live in this Jorrvaskr place and hunt with you, I'll recognise you as alpha female. I'll do what you say and won't cause trouble, I promise. You can use the rings whenever you like. Just help me get them.”

Aela turned to see what Vilkas and Ria were making of all this. Vilkas still looked suspicious but Ria seemed sympathetic.

“We have to help, Aela,” said Ria softly. “Would we be Companions if we didn't? What happens when there's no werewolves left, will the bears start preying on Raven Rock next? Or the Skaal?”

“I don't like it,” said Vilkas, brow furrowed. “But I don't like the sound of these werebears either and while you know my feelings on the blood... if these rings are truly powerful, who knows what these werebears might do with them? We should do something.”

Someone certainly should, but Aela remembered Rakel and Magni's faces and thought of them lying dead, torn to pieces by werebears. She remembered fighting them with Cicero and Ria, and while Cicero was more than capable, Ria could have been killed. Even with the Thu'um, she was still young, and what was more, Cicero adored her. She couldn't risk Cicero's child like this, not on a venture that wasn't her own. Bad enough Ria had to deal with Miraak's minions.

“No,” said Aela firmly. “Not you two. You've got a mission, don't forget. Ria, you need to go back to Raven Rock, wait for Cicero then get on with sorting Miraak out – these werebears might be tough but they're nothing compared to the havoc Miraak would cause if he returned. I'll take this one.”

Ria hesitated then nodded. Clearly she remembered what the werebears were capable of as well. 

“All right,” Ria said. “I'll see you back at Raven Rock. But Aela, take care won't you? If it's really dangerous, back off, come find us, I'm sure we can all fight them once Cicero's back.”

Aela had no intention of dragging the Dark Brotherhood into this, but she nodded anyway. Vilkas looked shrewdly at her, still wary of Hjordis.

“Aela. I hope you know what you're doing.”

Aela wasn't entirely certain she did but she had to do something. And a pack, another werewolf at Jorrvaskr who actually wanted to be one... that was a worthy prize in itself, never mind these rings. 

“Vilkas, this is something I need to do,” Aela said quietly. “I can't just turn my back on this.”

“No, I know,” Vilkas sighed. “But don't forget, you don't get to decide who becomes a Companion either, Kodlak does.”

Which was very true... but Aela was confident she could at least do something for Hjordis, even if that meant clearing out a bandit haunt near the Reach to serve as pack headquarters for them both and Eola. 

“Hjordis,” Aela said, after Vilkas and Ria took their leave. “Vilkas was right, I don't get full say over who gets to join up. But you can come back with me, meet Kodlak, our Harbinger, see what he thinks. You'll likely be able to stay for a while, do some jobs for us in the mean time and if you can prove yourself, there'll be a formal initiation. And if he says no... then I'll still help you all I can regardless, find you somewhere else to live. Introduce you to the other werewolf, Eola. I don't know if you'd like her or not, but she's as fierce a huntress as any. Knows magic too.”

“Werewolves have no business getting involved in witchcraft,” Hjordis said grimly, looking faintly appalled at the idea of a mage werewolf.

“Yes, well, she was a witch first and a werewolf second – it wasn't exactly intentional to give her the blood,” said Aela, grief for Skjor still there under it all – but the weregild was paid and resenting Eola wouldn't bring him back. “But she's one of us and might help you if you needed it. Now, these werebears. Do you know where they are?”

Hjordis nodded, drying her eyes. “Yes, I tracked them to a ruined temple in the middle of the island. There were too many to fight alone though so I decided to find you. I don't know if there's too many for the two of us as well, but we need to try. Will you scout the place with me at least?”

“I will,” Aela promised. “Come on, lets go hunt some bears.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cicero always did remind me of Gollum a bit. So I gave him a little Smeagol moment. Fortunately for us all, Cicero's loyalty to the Night Mother won out, as it always does.
> 
> May have teared up a bit over that Aranea/Sapphire moment. In case you were wondering, there is a primary couple in that little threesome - and it's Aranea and Sapphire.
> 
> That is the Dark Brotherhood subplot mostly resolved now, but there's the werewolf one just getting started, and of course the main quest and the return. I have a feeling this is going to be another 30 chapter one...


	18. Blood Will Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ria gets her first taste of what she's really up against, but being a Companion, it just makes her more determined. Meanwhile the Dark Brotherhood are finally back in Raven Rock, recovering from their victory over the Morag Tong and in the aftermath, more than one secret comes to light...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not abandoned! Sorry about the hiatus, Wolf Queen Awakens ran away with me... But this one is ready now and it's a sweet chapter.

“Do you think she'll be all right?” Ria whispered. The two of them were making their way down the coast, heading back to Raven Rock. Aela had long since vanished with that other werewolf, Hjordis. Vilkas still didn't know what to make of her. Something wild, something dangerous and untamed about her, a feral beast with just a veneer of humanity. And she'd offered to come back to Whiterun? Vilkas wasn't at all sure she'd last before something bad happened, some horrible accident or worse and Hjordis ended up being run out of the Companions. Maybe going feral... or more likely going where the last werewolf to get kicked out of the Companions had ended up. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it wouldn't be so. He could only hope. As long as she didn't drag Aela with her. 

“I don't know,” said Vilkas, hoping his own anxiety wasn't too obvious. “But there's no talking Aela out of something when she's got an idea in her head. Blatantly obvious she was never just here for Miraak. Solstheim's got many old werewolf legends, it's no real surprise there's relics of Hircine here. Of course Aela went after them.”

“She might get killed,” Ria whispered, eyes haunted, probably by the memory of the werebears that had attacked her. Vilkas had shivered to hear the story, everything in him screaming at the idea of Ria dying, Ria in danger, Ria being hurt, Ria... He shook his head. Ria was fine, Ria was right here, Ria was even Dragonborn – a trained Dragonborn now, thanks to Cicero. Wasn't that ironic, Cicero of the Dark Brotherhood had trained his protegee in a few hours beyond what Vilkas could ever teach her. 

“Aela will survive,” Vilkas said, although he didn't entirely believe it. “She's not a fool – if it looks like too much, she'll come and find us. I don't much care for Hircine any more but I can see why she'd want those rings. Certainly I'd rather have something like that at Jorrvaskr where we can keep an eye on them.”

Ria nodded, falling silent, and was Vilkas imagining it or had she drawn a little closer to him?

“What's it like?” she said quietly. “Having the beast blood. Does it hurt, transforming?”

 _Yes, but not as much as not transforming does._ He could feel it, a constant burning hunger, the need to change, to run free and wild and hunt, kill, feed, destroy... He'd revelled in it at one point. Now it disgusted him.

“Yes, but it's over very soon,” said Vilkas, not really wanting to talk about this, to remind the woman he loved that he was little better than a wild animal. “I don't do it any more though. Transform, I mean. I swore an oath to Kodlak, me and Farkas both did, that we wouldn't use it. We don't get to Sovngarde with beast blood in our veins.”

“And you want to go – well, of course Kodlak does because Stelmaria's there – oh!” Ria put a hand to her mouth as she realised. “Oh no, does Cicero know this? He had his heart set on his parents getting to be together in death!”

“He knows,” said Vilkas with a heavy heart. “He was upset about it, yes, but he's looking for a cure. With his connections, he might even find one.”

“The Dark Brotherhood? Or – no, old magic, you think the Forsworn might know!” Ria broke out into a grin, a little giggle of delight that sounded just like her father. 

“Hags did this to us, Hags probably know the cure, but I'm not getting my hopes up,” Vilkas sighed. “Anything they give will be for a price, and I don't trust Madanach. He hates Nords, you can tell that every time he's in the room with one of us.”

“He married one,” Ria felt obliged to point out. “He's just a human like the rest of us, he's not the monster you seem to think. He was perfectly nice when I met him in Dawnstar, not just to me either. It was just him and that Nord bodyguard of his, and they didn't seem to hate each other. Quite the opposite.”

“Still don't trust him,” Vilkas growled. “Any bargain he makes with Kodlak will have a price attached, you can bet your life on it.”

“He wants his daughter cured too,” said Ria softly, having heard Madanach promise Eola he'd find a cure for 'that other thing' and having seen Eola's beast form, guessed what that must mean. “He'll help. Count on it, Vilkas.”

Vilkas just growled, not really wanting to count on any such thing, but also not having much choice. _Forget about it,_ he told himself. _Just focus on the job in hand._ Yes, that was right, forget he was just a beast, a filthy, unworthy beast, with vile, bestial urges that shouldn't be inflicted on any decent woman, never mind Ria. All the same, didn't stop the longing. So he walked ahead, not looking at her, keeping her out of his direct line of vision before he cracked and broke completely. 

It was going quite well until the dragon turned up. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“What's a dragon doing here?” Ria yelled above the blazing dragon fire as she fired arrows at the beast. “I didn't know Alduin had ever got out here! Land, you little fetcher, land, that's it, JOOR ZAH FRUL!”

“It's probably one of Miraak's,” Vilkas growled, swinging the Bloodskal Blade at it as the beast crashed down next to him, Ria's Dragonrend shimmering all over it. “And it's probably after whoever's been releasing all those Standing Stones!”

Miraak could raise dragons as well? Or... no, Miraak could _control_ dragons and he'd probably taken a few to Apocrypha with him. Now he was sending them back. 

Well, hadn't Ria always loved a challenge? She raised her sword and charged in to help Vilkas, marvelling at how easy this was, how her sword just carved into the beast's scales, how the blood just flowed, how the beast weakened before her. _Yes, yes, my Thu'um is stronger!_

Vilkas stabbed it in the eye, and then Ria swung her blade in for one last strike that ended the beast's life. The dragon fell dead and the two of them watched as it started to blaze. Ria braced herself for impact. 

It never came. A small explosion of light on the dragon's other side, and she and Vilkas weren't alone. 

“What the-?” Vilkas gasped, drawing his sword. Ria stepped forward and gasped to see a man in strange blue robes and an unusual gold mask standing there, magic swirling around him.

“Not this time, little jester. This one is mine...” He stopped, tilting his head as he saw Ria. “Ahhh,” he breathed, sounding all too pleased to see her. “Two of you! And I can see it in your eyes, in your face – you're his kin. His heir. The jester's child. And you've been releasing the Stones, hmm? Your father sends you to do what he cannot.”

“My father is quite capable of sending you to your death,” Ria growled, gripping her sword tight. “He just doesn't want to turn into _you!_ ”

“Not turn into me, no,” Miraak purred, and Ria had the feeling the bastard was smirking under that mask. “Did he tell you what really happened when we met?”

“He said you were stronger... that time. But when you meet him again, he'll make an end of you!” Ria shouted, but there was something not right, some intuition prickling at her mind, the memory of Cicero coming back... broken.

Miraak just laughed, advancing, his form translucent, not entirely here... but here in part and that worried Ria. Hadn't freeing the Stones been meant to weaken his hold on this world?

“In order to kill me, he'd have to want to,” Miraak gloated. “I didn't even need to use Bend Will. Why force someone who'll yield to you willingly?”

Ria forced the rage down as she tightened her grip on her sword. “Believe me, he'll never give in to you!” she hissed. What Miraak had done to him, she didn't know or want to, but she knew Cicero was loyal to the Dark Brotherhood if nothing else. He'd never join the side of someone who'd killed his friends, desecrated his Temple and kidnapped his girlfriend.

“Too late,” Miraak laughed. “You know, I ought to thank you, little dragon. Using the Stones was working, yes, but it took a lot of effort. But now... now I don't need them any more. I have another way back.” He turned to the burning dragon corpse, reaching out a hand to it. Ria could only watch in horror as the soul boiled up into the air and swirled around the nearest Dragonborn... and it wasn't her. Miraak laughed as the soul surrounded him, and then he'd absorbed it. Ria saw, Ria realised... and Ria snapped, her father's blood finally showing.

“YOU SOUL-STEALING BASTARD!!!!” Ria howled, sprinting for him with her sword raised high. “GIVE IT BACK THIS SECOND OR I SHALL SEND YOU TO THE VOID, YOU MOTHERFETCHING SON-OF-A-BITCH!”

“Ria!” And that was Vilkas, not that Ria was really aware of him or anything other than Miraak standing there, laughing as he took _her dragon soul, damn him._

“GIVE ME MY SOUL BACK, YOU THIEVING WRETCH!” Ria screamed, lunging for the smug, treacherous, lying bastard. Her sword swung at him, only to pass right through Miraak as he laughed.

“You cannot hurt me here, Dovahkiir,” Miraak laughed as he started to fade. “You are not even close to my equal. But keep killing dragons by all means. Every one you kill, every soul I reap, brings me one step nearer to returning.”

“GET BACK HERE, MIRAAK!” Ria shrieked, trying to go for him again, except now Vilkas had intervened, grabbing her from behind and holding her back. “I HAVEN'T FINISHED YET! I SHALL FIND YOU AND STAB YOU, YOU AND YOUR FILTHY TENTACLED ABOMINATIONS THAT YOU CALL PETS! DO YOU HEAR ME, MIRAAK?? RIA SHALL FIND YOU AND _MURDER YOU ALL!!!!_ ”

“Ria!” Vilkas again, arms round her as she struggled against him. “RIA!”

Slowly the red mist cleared as Miraak faded back into Oblivion. Ria gasped for breath, blinking in the ash-filtered early evening light, realising he was gone, Miraak was gone and the dragon's skeleton lay there before her, and the soul wasn't hers.

“Bastard,” she gasped. “BASTARD!”

“Yes, I know,” Vilkas said softly, finally loosening his grip. Ria sank to her knees, tired now, very tired, her throat raw from the shrieking and really how did Cicero manage to keep it up like he did?

“He took my dragon soul,” Ria gasped. “Vilkas, he took the dragon soul!” She finally looked up at Vilkas as he knelt next to her, one hand on her back and genuine worry in his eyes.

“Are you all right?” Vilkas asked. Ria wasn't even sure. Probably, yes, but... oh gods, Miraak was a dangerous man.

“I think so,” Ria whispered. “But Vilkas, did you see, he stole that dragon's soul!”

“I saw,” Vilkas said sombrely, although Ria had the feeling that wasn't the thing that had bothered him. “Ria, you... weren't yourself just then.”

No, no she hadn't been, she'd been an angry Dragonborn and the daughter of the jester. She supposed she should be frightened, but right now she was just worried. Cicero, oh Cicero, what had Miraak done to him??

“You know who my father is, Vilkas,” Ria said irritably. “We're Dragonborns, we're not kind-hearted and merciful individuals, we bathe in the blood of our enemies and rip them to pieces.”

“I've seen you be both merciful and kind before now,” Vilkas said, still with that strange look in his eyes, that mix of gentleness and worry that had seemed to start showing up more and more often lately. Ria wasn't used to it and wasn't sure what to make of it – it was nice, but it was different, wrong, no explanation whatsoever and Ria didn't like it when things didn't make sense. All the same, he was her Shield-Brother still. She didn't think he'd hurt her.

“He hurt my father,” Ria said quietly. “I don't know what he did, but Cicero went into Apocrypha to fight him and he came back... he wasn't the same, Vilkas. He lost, and it messed him up. Now Miraak's here gloating about it, and... I'm sorry, Vilkas, I guess it was pretty scary to watch, hey?”

“A little,” Vilkas admitted. “But I can't say I blame you. I'm not a lot better when people hurt my loved ones.” He squeezed her shoulder, still looking a bit surprised. “You really do care about Cicero, don't you?”

“Yeah,” Ria said, smiling a little as she recalled all the times she'd spent with Cicero over the past few months, all the time he'd fussed over her and taught her things and teased and giggled and pouted and made her laugh. She'd grown genuinely fond of him and knowing they were kin had just made her more protective of him. Almost certainly not the way father and daughter relationships were meant to be, but all the same, she loved him dearly. “I really do. And ever since he found out, he's really been trying so hard. He's been fussing over me and doting on me and cheering whenever I kill anything. Seeing him so unhappy after facing Miraak...” She shook her head, feeling the anger resurface. “I am going to kill the bastard, Vilkas, I swear it.”

“That's the spirit,” said Vilkas, patting her back and helping her up. “Now, we did what we came here for, how about back to Raven Rock and...?”

“No,” said Ria, up until she realised how tired she was anyway. “Well, all right, we'll spend tonight at the inn there. But tomorrow, we're not waiting for Cicero. If Miraak gets stronger every time we kill a dragon, if he can take the souls and use us as a way back... Vilkas, we don't have time. We need to sort the Sun Stone out then see Neloth, with or without Cicero. We can do this, Vilkas, in fact honestly, I'd be happier if Cicero was out of harm's way.”

“Cicero usually is harm's way,” Vilkas sighed. “But come on. Let's get back to Raven Rock, rest and eat, and we'll talk about this in the morning, hmm?”

Ria assented, guessing full well Vilkas was hoping she'd change her mind. Not a chance. Her father needed her help, her father needed another Dragonborn to help fight someone he couldn't manage alone. Ria knew her familial duty when she saw it. Miraak had hurt Cicero? Miraak would _pay_.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a whole day later when Glover finally saw them limp back into town, Aranea with arms around her Dark Brothers and Sapphire behind them, that ghost of Cicero's alongside her. Sapphire was very definitely not looking in his direction as they made their way over to Milore's house, Milore looking up from her stall, crying out to see her sister back and the two women embracing. Heartwarming, but the only happy reunion Glover cared about was his own... and he'd stuffed that right up, hadn't he? Because he'd been too much of a coward to man up and confess to Sapphire he was her real father, not that cowherd her mother had married after he'd run out on her. 

He looked away and busied himself with the sword he'd been working on, catching up on jobs now the shrine was finished and handed over to Othreloth that morning. So it was he didn't notice the Dark Brotherhood vanishing into Milore's house... not until a shadow loomed over him. 

“Glover Mallory,” a voice that sounded like smooth sujamma and poison purred into his ear. Glover yelped, leaping to his feet and backing away, trying to put as much distance between him and Cicero as possible.

The little jester was standing there, dancing on the spot and clapping his hands together, giggling as if at some private joke. Glover took a few deep breaths, glaring at the little fool.

“Did you want something?” he growled. Cicero tilted his head, still that odd smile on his face.

“Yes,” he giggled. “Oh, do not worry, Cicero does not need anything doing. He merely had questions.”

“Questions.” Glover narrowed his eyes, wondering what on earth the man could possibly want. They'd rescued Aranea, he'd done the shrine, what more did the Brotherhood want? “What sort of questions?”

“Simple questions! Easy questions!” Cicero cooed. “Very straightforward questions. Cicero only wanted to know why dear Glover has not told sweet Sapphire who he really is.”

He knew. How did Cicero know?? He didn't look much like Sapphire, and no one knew, no one.

“I'm Glover Mallory, and that is all you or anyone else needs to know. Now hop it, before I lose my temper,” Glover growled, reaching for his tools.

Cicero's smile never wavered. “Cicero thinks otherwise,” Cicero murmured. “Or rather, Cicero thinks Glover is not the only Mallory on this island. Cicero thinks sweet Sapphire is beloved by Glover but not for any carnal reason, no. Cicero thinks Sapphire Stone-Killer is really Sapphire Mallory. Is it not so?”

“Inside the house. Now,” Glover hissed, reaching for Cicero's arm. Cicero cackled triumphantly as Glover yanked the door open, glanced around to see if anyone was watching, and threw him into his house.

Glover slammed the door, his back up against it, staring at the jester, fighting off panic. Oh gods, if the little idiot told Sapphire, he'd... he wasn't sure, but he was sure it wouldn't be good. 

“What do you want?” Glover snapped. “Coin? A favour? Something stealing? Crafting? I already did the shrine, Sapphire's paid me for it.”

To his surprise, Cicero actually looked hurt.

“Cicero doesn't want anything!” he snapped. “Only to see his sweet sister happy. Except she isn't. Because her father will not tell her he is her father, and she is confused and upset!” Cicero was advancing, snarl on his face which turned into a pout a second later. “Why will Glover not say?”

To Glover's surprise, the little fool actually looked concerned. Well of course he'd want a Dark Sister to be happy, Glover supposed. He'd seen Cicero and Sapphire interact, and while he'd capered about like anyone's business, Glover hadn't seen him pushing the boundaries nor had he seen any sign Sapphire was annoyed by him, in fact they'd seemed to get on. Maybe Cicero really did just want his sister to be happy.

“It's complicated,” Glover sighed, sinking into a chair and reaching for some mead. Cicero fluttered around the room before curling up at Glover's feet, gazing up at him with what looked like sympathy. “How did you know anyway?”

“Cicero guessed,” Cicero murmured. “Cicero has a child of his own, that he did not know about until he found her in adulthood. Even then Cicero did not know, not until she took a dragon soul, and then Cicero knew. She did not take the news well.”

“I can believe that,” Glover said, not quite able to resist smiling. “She not one of your lot then?”

Cicero shook his head. “No. She is a Companion, a brave and honourable warrior. She does not do sneaking and stabbing, not like Cicero, no. She was... disappointed. Poor rejected Cicero was very hurt... but he still loves her, and he thinks she is getting used to the idea. Cicero will not push it with her... but Cicero knows. Cicero saw the look in your eyes when you looked on Sapphire, saw the affection... saw the guilt.” He tilted his head, sad smile on his face. “But you and Sapphire, you are both thieves, you are one and the same kind. Sapphire would not be disappointed to learn you were her father!”

“As far as she knows, she had one,” Glover said, trying not to think of the remains of that village when he'd finally gone back to see if his old lover was still around, or of what little Sapphire had told him. “After I left her ma, she got married. Had Sapphire, had a few other kids, Saff thinks she had the same father they did. But she doesn't. I asked her, she said she was the oldest and that she suspected her parents 'had' to get married in a hurry. Maybe they did, but her father wasn't her ma's husband. Here, I wrote it all down in a letter for her. I was going to send it to her in Riften, but never got the nerve. Now she's here and I don't know what to tell her.”

Cicero took the letter and read it, and it was really quite amazing to watch a crazy Dark Brotherhood assassin's face change, eyes widening and lips pursing and sniffing as he wiped a tear away.

“That is so sad,” Cicero whispered, handing the letter back. “So you left, you left your pregnant not-wife behind and ran away. That is why you cannot tell her, you do not want to face her anger.”

“Yeah,” Glover sighed, pocketing the letter. “She grew up with parents, let her remember them, eh? Best parent is one who can't do any wrong anymore.”

A little whimper from Cicero, his brow furrowing and his eyes... heartbroken. 

“No, no, that isn't true!” Cicero wailed. “The best parent is one who is there! You must tell her, you must, you must, maybe she will be angry, but she will not be angry forever! As it is, she is already upset with you, what have you got to lose??”

“Ain't that simple, Cicero,” Glover said quietly, although he was starting to wonder if maybe he just should send her the letter, hope she forgave him. She might as well be angry for the right reason.

“It could be,” Cicero whispered. Next thing Glover knew, Cicero was cuddling him, clinging on to him and crooning all over him.

“Glover, sweet Glover, you should tell her, you should, you should! Because you are sad and so is she, and maybe eventually she would forgive you and you could be happy! Both of you, a loving father and his only daughter. If Cicero cannot be... someone else should.” He was clinging on to Glover, sniffling, and Glover was starting to worry about him. Poor man sounded quite unhappy. Rather awkwardly, Glover patted him on the back. 

“There, there,” Glover told him. “It's all right. Your girl'll come round. I heard you're pretty fearless yourself, and if you were friends before she found out, you still could be. You just be sure and treat her right and spoil your little princess like she should be, yeah?”

“Cicero will, he will!” Cicero sniffled, drying his eyes. “Cicero thanks kind Glover for his wise words... and perhaps he will think about heeding them himself, hmm?” Cicero got up, odd little smile on his face as he made to take his leave.

“I'll think about it,” Glover promised, already feeling a little better over him not being the only one in this position. He might even tell Sapphire before she left, or at least write another letter for her. Maybe. “You're all right, you know, Cicero. You're a good bloke... for an assassin anyway.” He patted Cicero on the back, which made Cicero squeak but he didn't object. “Stop by after hours, we can have a drink of Maven's finest.”

Cicero promised he would if his business allowed, but duty called and he needed to track down sweet Ria and find out how she'd been. Glover let him go, waving him off as the little jester rejoined his ghost companion and scampered back to Milore's. Maybe he would tell her. Maybe. In the mean time, he had work to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Cicero bounced over to Lucien, slightly wistful look fading as soon as Glover could no longer see him, to be replaced by a manic grin of delight.

“Well?” Lucien asked. “How did it go? Did Glover agree to talk to Sapphire?”

“He said he would think about it,” Cicero purred. “Oh but brother, that is no longer necessary! Glover has spoken! Not out loud, but on paper, look, look! And Sapphire is an uncommonly good teacher, look.” Cicero produced Glover's letter, unable to resist smirking. Really, picking the thief's pocket had been simplicity itself. Sapphire had been right, it really was all about distracting the target.

Lucien glanced at the contents, impressed. “Oh now that was well done, brother. What are you going to do with it, as if I can't guess.”

“Why, deliver it of course,” Cicero said, all guile disappearing from his face. “Come, come, brother, where is Sapphire, still at Milore's? Then let us go, at once! Before Glover finds out it is missing.” 

Ghost and jester disappeared inside Milore's house, before Glover could reach into his pocket and realise the note was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Aranea was lying on Milore's guest bed, eyes fluttering closed after a long and exhausting walk over half of Solstheim. Milore knelt by her side, hardly able to believe she was here, alive and healthy, Aranea Ienith back in her life again. 

“You did it,” she whispered. “You saved her.”

Calixto just shrugged, looking rather awkward as he leaned against the far wall, and that was odd, Aranea's husband backing off while that friend of hers, Sapphire, was perched on the bed, hand resting on Aranea's back.

“We got her back, yes,” Calixto replied. “The Tong won't be trying anything here for a while, you need not worry about that. And we're taking her back to Skyrim as soon as we're done here. She'll be safe, don't worry.”

Milore hoped so, she really did. But the Tong had long memories, and though Aranea had escaped this time, there might be another.

“And when you are dead in twenty years or so?” Milore whispered.

“I will still be there,” Sapphire said fiercely, and there was something decidedly weird about the way Sapphire was stroking Aranea's hair. “And when I am gone, the Brotherhood will still be there. We take care of our own.” 

Aranea's eyelids fluttered, lips curving in a smile. “Saffie?” she whispered. “Are you there?”

“I'm right here, honey,” Sapphire whispered. “Right here.” Then she leaned down and actually kissed Aranea's hair and all right, now things were definitely up. Calixto hadn't batted an eyelid at this really not very sisterly behaviour.

“Shouldn't you be doing that?” Milore asked, frowning at Calixto, who glanced up, blinking.

“Doing what? Oh, you mean comforting her? If you insist, but Sapphire's a lot better at that whole thing than I am.”

“She's kissing your wife, for Mephala's sake!” Milore cried, and the identical smirks that appeared on all three of their faces just confused her even more.

“Not for her sake,” Sapphire laughed. “Or are we now?”

“Technically,” Aranea whispered, opening her eyes and looking Milore straight in the eye. “Milore, is that really you?”

“Yes,” Milore gasped, taking her hand and deciding Aranea's friends could wait. “Yes, sister, it's me. Azura have mercy, I've been so worried. Are you alright? What happened? What did the Tong do to you? Are you really living in Windhelm now?”

Aranea closed her eyes, shivering, and Milore wished she'd not asked.

“Bad things,” Aranea whispered. “But my Family rescued me and healed me. You don't need to worry.”

“Of course I worry, I'm your sister,” Milore whispered. “I always worried. Even when you were wrapped up in the visions, I worried. Someone had to.”

Aranea smiled, squeezing Milore's hand. 

“Azura was looking after me, Milore,” Aranea whispered. “She still is.”

“You idiot,” Milore said, blinking back tears as she hugged her sister. “We're not all like you! What if I'd never seen you again??”

Aranea had nothing to say to that, holding on to Milore and seemingly unsure as to what so say. Milore would take silence as acceptance.

“You ran away and I never saw you, and when I did, it was all Azura this and Azura that, and now you're married and I didn't even know!” Milore cried. It was only after she'd said that bit she saw guilt flicker in Aranea's eyes, and now she knew something was up.

“What?” she whispered. “What aren't you telling me?”

Aranea looked away, letting Milore go and then reaching for Sapphire's hand, taking it and squeezing it.

“I'm not married,” Aranea sighed. “Calixto's not my husband, we just told people that as a cover because we were here on secret business and didn't know we knew anyone in town. We are lovers though.”

That... actually made an awful lot of sense, more so than Aranea having got married in a hurry. Aranea had always been the cautious type, well, except where Azura was concerned of course.

“And Sapphire?” Milore asked, suspicion in her eyes as she began to wonder what else was going on. “Just who are you anyway?”

“My other lover,” Aranea said quietly, lifting her eyes up, looking defensive but not letting go of Sapphire's hand. 

Well now. That was... unexpected. Milore looked to Calixto to see how he'd reacted, but he was just glancing at his nails, apparently not bothered.

“Two of them?” Milore managed to say. “How??” This whole thing was so far outside her field of reference, Milore had no idea how to react. But Aranea had always been the eccentric one, hadn't she?

“A job well done, a victory rush, Ancestor's Wrath and far too much stolen Black-Briar reserve,” Calixto told her, and that had Aranea hiding her face in her pillow while Sapphire burst out laughing, leaning over Aranea's shoulders and kissing her hair. Milore at this point decided she didn't want to know the details... but Sapphire looked happy and Calixto was smiling and as for Aranea, her uptight, self-contained sister was looking absolutely mortified. Good. About time she learned to cut loose.

“Well, when you change tacks, you do it in style, don't you?” Milore said, starting to giggle. “Oh my word, Nilara would have kittens if she knew. Not sure how Garyn's going to react but don't worry, he takes most things in his stride.” She reached out and patted Aranea's shoulder. “Don't you worry, sweetie, I think it's adorable. About time someone brought you back down to Nirn and reconnected you with the rest of us.”

“Oh gods,” was all Aranea could say, but she did eventually look up, still blushing. “Thank you though. Not many people outside the Brotherhood really get it, although most are too smart to say anything to my face.”

Milore could imagine, but Aranea was still her sister, and bringing two in-laws instead of one, well, Milore could live with that. She squeezed Aranea's hand again, smiling at her big sister. She had Aranea back. Nothing else mattered.

At least, it didn't until Cicero scampered in.

“Sapphire, Sapphire, come, come, Cicero has something for you!” Cicero cooed, bouncing into the room. “A letter, a letter, you must read it, you must, you must!”

Calixto and Aranea both muttered “oh gods” in unison, and Sapphire's smile had faded.

“What, right now?” she sighed. “I'm having some Aranea time! Can't it wait?”

“No!” Cicero snapped. “It is vitally important! It is from Glover! Explaining everything!”

Sapphire's face closed up at the mention of his name. “He can definitely wait. I don't care, Cicero. It'll just be a bunch of pathetic excuses.”

“IT IS NOT, IT IS NOT, SAPPHIRE MUST READ IT, SHE MUST, SHE MUST!” Cicero shrieked, waving the letter about, hopping from foot to foot, looking increasingly agitated and scaring Milore a little – a lot in fact – until Aranea motioned for Sapphire to get back, hauled herself upright and held out a hand.

“Cicero. The letter. Give it to me,” Aranea sighed. “Who is Glover anyway? Not an unwanted suitor, I hope.”

To everyone's relief, Cicero calmed down and passed the letter over to her before watching intently, seeming very excited still.

“He's a Guildmate,” Sapphire sighed while Aranea read the letter. She was staring at the ceiling, exasperated by the whole thing and not noticing the way Aranea's eyes widened as she read. “Delvin Mallory's brother but he moved out here a few years ago. I met up with him again when I got here, got him to build that shrine you wanted, he even helped us rescue you... but he didn't ask anything and I realised he was in love with me. I don't love him back though, 'Nea, so I just told him to go and...”

Sapphire stopped, not sure what to say and then Aranea had placed a hand on her arm.

“He's not in love with you,” Aranea whispered. “It's... oh hang it, just read it for yourself. Seriously, beloved, it's important, trust me.”

Before anyone could do anything else, there came a hammering on the door and the sound of an angry Breton shouting.

“OI, CICERO! OPEN THIS FETCHING DOOR!”

“Speak of the Daedra,” Calixto said, glancing at the door. Cicero for his part had gone rather pale and nervous.

“Sweet Sapphire, please read it, Glover is about to murder me, you are the only one who can distract him,” Cicero chirped, eyes a bit too bright. Aranea could only roll her eyes.

“This letter was not supposed to be delivered, was it? I can tell from the last paragraph, he wrote this weeks, months, maybe years ago.”

“Garyn mate, can you unlock this door for me?” Glover was calling to Milore's husband. “Only you've got a thief in there. That little git Cicero nicked something of mine.”

“Cicero stole nothing!” Cicero cried. “It is Sapphire's, it is addressed to her, Cicero is just delivering it to its rightful owner because Glover clearly was not going to!”

Sapphire had taken the letter by this point and started to read, just as the door opened and Glover ran into the house.

“Garyn you TRAITOR!” Cicero howled, taking up a defensive stance and raising his fists as Glover followed the voice and rounded the corner to where they were all grouped. “Cicero shall remember this!”

“Not if I have anything to do with it, you thieving little...” Glover stopped dead, seeing Sapphire sitting on the bed with her hand over her mouth, letter in hand and tears rolling down her cheek. 

“Sapphire,” Aranea whispered, rubbing her girlfriend's back. “Sapphire, he's here, do you want to talk to him?”

Sapphire finally lowered the letter, staring at Glover. At her father, as it turned out.

“Is it true?” she whispered, tears glittering on her cheeks. Glover just looked at his feet then nodded guiltily.

“Every word. I'm so sorry, Sapphire, I didn't mean...”

“How could you?” Sapphire whispered. “How COULD you??” She flung herself off the bed, launching herself at him, grabbing his shirt. “Ma died, Pa – at least I thought he was – died, all my brothers and sisters, my grandpa, my aunt and uncle, my cousins, friends, neighbours, all gone! My home, destroyed! Because you weren't there!”

“I couldn't have saved 'em all, Saff,” Glover whispered, looking wretched. 

“No,” Sapphire gasped. “But you could have saved me.” She clung on to him, sobbing on his shoulder and Glover had tears in his own eyes as he clutched her tight.

“I'm so sorry, Sapphire,” Glover whispered. “I should have been there, you're right, I should never have left you, I just wasn't ready...”

“You didn't want children,” Sapphire whispered. Glover just held her tighter.

“I didn't want to be a farmer,” Glover murmured. “I'm a thief and I wasn't ready to retire. But I never forgot and I kept wondering and eventually I went back just to say sorry and see what had become of you all... and I was a day late. I never got over it, Saff. Not a day went by when I didn't look back and regret what I'd done. I'm so sorry, Sapphire. If – if you don't want anything to do with me... I'll understand.”

“Oh no you don't, you're not running away again,” Sapphire snapped, eyes flashing. “You don't have to go back to Riften, but don't think I'm letting you slink off into the night! You're staying in touch, and you're going to visit me, and I'm coming to see you on the quarter-days, and my birthday's 15th Morning Star, and _don't_ you forget it!”

Sapphire had let him go, arms folded and pointing a finger at him, and by this point it was getting a little tricky to remember which one was supposed to be the parent here, but Glover was finally meeting her eyes, astonished.

“You... you forgive me?” he whispered. Sapphire nodded, finally smiling.

“I thought I'd lost everyone,” she said, wiping tears away. “I didn't think I had any family left, just my guildmates. I always looked up to you, always. I was heartbroken when you left Riften. I missed you so much. You should have told me, Glover! It would have been so awesome having you there. No one would have given me grief over anything if they'd known you were my pa! We could have been a father and daughter master thieving duo.”

Too late for that now, and they both knew it. But not too late to be father and daughter. Glover held her tight, not sure how this had worked out, but somehow it had. He had his child back, his little girl. Not so little anymore, but here, alive, knowing the truth and forgiving him.

“Thank you,” he gasped, wiping a tear away. “You ever need anything, you come and see me, you hear? Anything you want, love, anything at all. You're my little girl, I'd do anything for you.”

Sapphire nodded, clinging on to him, smiling despite the tears cascading down her cheeks.

“I know that now. Thank you... Pa.” She kissed him on the cheek and Glover could have actually burst into tears at that. He settled for kissing her back and holding her tight, and all around the room, their audience started applauding, smiles all round, even from hardened murderers.

“See, see, it worked, it worked and now Sapphire is happy!” Cicero squealed, bouncing up and down on the bed where he was sitting next to Aranea.

“Yes it did,” Aranea told him, patting his back rather indulgently. She'd always had a soft spot for Cicero, certainly after surviving Blackreach with him anyway. “Well done, brother.”

Cicero cooed at the praise, at least he did until Glover let Sapphire go and recalled why he'd come down here in the first place.

“And as for you, you thieving little sod,” he growled, advancing on Cicero, “you're going to get exactly what's coming to you!”

Cicero whimpered and backed up against the wall, reaching for Aranea's hand.

“Sister!” he wailed. “Sister, save me!” Which was a little awkward considering Glover had just turned out to be Aranea's father-in-law and they'd not even been properly introduced yet, for Azura's sake.

“Er, Mr. Mallory, sir, I must ask you not to damage Cicero, we do need him...” Aranea began, but all Glover's attention was on Cicero as he bore down on the terrified jester.

“You're gonna get exactly what you deserve!” Glover growled at him. “One daedra of a cuddle! Come here.”

Before Cicero could react, Glover had grabbed his armour and pulled him to him, cuddling him tight. Seeing he wasn't going to get beaten up after all, Cicero squeaked a bit and patted him on the back nervously.

“Glover isn't... angry?” Cicero asked hopefully.

“Nah mate,” Glover laughed. “I wanted to say thank you. For doing what I wasn't brave enough to. You gave me my little princess back. I'll never forget it. Just don't pinch any more of my stuff, you hear?”

“Cicero won't!” Cicero gasped. “Glover doesn't have any other children running around, does he?”

“No,” Glover laughed, shaking his head. “No chance.” He let Cicero go, ruffling his hair and grinning as Cicero squeaked, flapping his arms around and bouncing. Then Glover's attention fell on Aranea as he coughed awkwardly and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Er... Madam Ienith. It's, er, a pleasure. You're looking a lot better than when I last saw you.”

“I had a good healer,” Aranea said, nodding at Calixto. “So you're Glover. Sapphire's... father.”

“That he is,” Sapphire said, coming to sit on the bed next to her and shooing Cicero away. “Glover, this is my Aranea...”

Hands were shaken and that was the point Milore decided Aranea, Sapphire and Glover needed their privacy, herding everyone else out of the room and going to update Garyn on everything. Cicero grinned, watching Aranea and Sapphire cuddle and Glover looking rather proudly at them both and went to see where Calixto and Lucien had got to.

Calixto, finally able to stop worrying about Aranea for a bit, was busy restocking his potions supply, while Lucien was leaning up against the wall.

“Well now, Cicero, now we're all re-assembled, what's next? I've not seen any of the Companions around town, although Milore informs me Vilkas and Ria were seen in the Netch yesterday. Aranea's not going to be well enough to come, and I imagine Sapphire will want to spend time with her father, but I can accompany you if you like. Certainly if it's Tel Mithryn you need to go to, you might find it useful to have a mage along.” Calixto was looking just a little bit hopeful, and Cicero had a horrible feeling he was getting bored again. Not to mention hankering after the prospect of magical research with Neloth, although Cicero suspected Neloth wouldn't make any bargain he wasn't getting the better of.

“Cicero must find Ria and make sure she is not dead,” Cicero said, mind turning away from Sapphire's family and back to his own, and where was Ria anyway? He'd made little secret of being here, Raven Rock was not big, if Ria was here why hadn't she sought him out? Unless she'd not wanted to see him, of course. Maybe that was it. Ria wanted to avoid him. Ria disliked him and found him tedious and annoying, as so many seemed to. Cicero's heart sank. That was sad, very sad indeed! But all the same, Ria was still his little dragon and he wasn't going to let her fight Miraak on her own. 

“Admirable. And then what?”

“And then, brother, we will go to Tel Mithryn with her, cleanse the Sun Stone and then you will get to see Neloth again and talk necromancy with him,” Cicero told him, smirking knowingly at the way Calixto's eyes lit up at the mere thought. Mages, honestly. All the same. Beckoning to Lucien and leaving Calixto to it, Cicero went off in search of Ria. Even if she found him lacking as a father figure, she was still his friend and his kin and his fellow Dragonborn. He'd got no intention of doing this without her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you go, the Sapphire plotline sorted out and Cicero ready to start with the main quest again. Next chapter, we get Neloth and another father/daughter reunion as Ria and Cicero meet up again.


	19. Of Man and Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ria's off to talk to Neloth, leaving a worried Cicero to follow in her wake, and a wary Vilkas along for the ride. But it's Aela who's really got her work cut out for her, what with werebears to deal with and one in particular who just won't leave her alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Er, hello everyone. I hope people are still reading this? I haven't abandoned it, honest! I just had the worst case of writer's block ever, due in large part to not knowing how to wrap up the werewolf subplot. But I found a way! Here is the result.

“Gone?” Cicero wailed. “What do you mean gone?? She cannot be gone already, she was here yesterday!”

“Yeah, and she left this morning with that Nord chap of hers,” Geldis said, rolling eyes. “We're a cornerclub, people come and go, that's how it works.”

Cicero growled at the innkeeper, eyes flashing in rage, and Lucien decided to step in. While he wasn't averse to Cicero losing his temper and stabbing people, they could do without the publicity. 

“Did she leave a note or say where she was going?” Lucien asked, and Geldis only looked a little unnerved by the ghost of a dead assassin following Cicero around.

“Now that you mention it, yeah she did,” Geldis said, producing a note. “Left it here, said to give it to you and tell you she was sorry. Can't imagine what for, but you're Cicero, aren't you?”

Cicero nodded enthusiastically, proclaiming that he was, he was, and took the note, all smiles now he was getting somewhere, even tipping Geldis for his trouble. The good mood lasted until he'd finished the note.

_“Dear Cicero,_

_I know you said to wait, and I'm really sorry, but it's worse than any of us thought. We've got no time to lose. Cleansing the Stones won't be enough, Miraak's found another way back, and he's using us to do it. I can't explain any more, but Vilkas and I are going to Tel Mithryn now to do the last Stone and see if Neloth can help. I hope so, because otherwise I don't know who else might._

_Come and find me at Tel Mithryn, I promise I'll tell you everything there. Don't worry, we're going to get this bastard and kill him, you and me. I won't let you face him alone again. You don't have to tell me what happened but I'm not letting him hurt you again._

_Your daughter,  
Ria”_

“She's gone,” Cicero whispered. “Lucien, she's gone! To Tel Mithryn! Without me!”

“Sneaking off without her parent's knowledge to go and have adventures on her own, I wonder where she possibly got that from,” Lucien remarked with a grin. Thanks to Stelmaria, all sorts of stories of Cicero's childhood were now doing the rounds, principally concerning how he had caused his poor mother no end of worry by constantly disappearing and getting himself into mischief. Sadly, Cicero right now was too worked up to even consider that.

“We must go after her!” Cicero gasped. “Now, now! Who knows what might happen to her out there? Where is Calixto, we need to leave at once!” Cicero raced out of the cornerclub, Lucien following behind, and Geldis breathed a sigh of relief to see him gone. The crazy fool may have done something about the Earth Stone and helped everyone sleep easier, and got the ebony mine re-opened, and perhaps even saved the First Councillor from assassination... but that didn't mean he wasn't a crazy fool.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“That's it?” Aela whispered, staring down at the old ruin. It wasn't big, all open to the air, and according to Hjordis, home to four werebears, three of which were sitting around in human form, dressed in nothing but ragged trousers and footwraps, easy to replace and repair after a transformation. Aela pitied them. 

“That's them,” Hjordis whispered. “Don't be fooled, they may look harmless but once they change...”

She didn't need to elaborate. Aela had seen them in action herself.

“Then we had best make sure we get them first,” she said softly. “Maybe they're fierce in bear form, but like that, they're men like any other.”

“Not quite,” a male voice growled behind them, and Hjordis wheeled round with her dagger, growling at the intruder. Aela placed a hand on her arm, staying Hjordis's hand as she turned to look at the speaker. She knew who it was. Who else would care about the werebears?

“Torkild,” Aela said wearily. “What is it you want?”

Torkild was standing up against a tree, dressed in the same rags the other werebears wore, and how he wasn't freezing was a mystery. He had his arms folded, grinning at Aela, staring unashamedly at her body rather than her face.

“You know what I want, Red Wolf,” he laughed. “I should be asking what you want. Not to be part of their clan, I'm sure. They won't want werewolves. If you're lucky they'll kill you and your friend here. If you're unlucky... you'll end up as their brood mares.” Torkild stepped forward, smile fading. “Just so you know, I'm _not_ happy about that.”

“You'd rather I was just _your_ brood mare,” Aela snapped, stepping smartly away from him. Torkild laughed, sounding only slightly bitter. 

“It's not just the breeding, Red Wolf,” Torkild said, seriousness creeping into his face for once. “You're a prize for more than that. You'd be a damn good alpha. Even if there were never any cubs, we could always recruit. Wolves and bears have been at each other's throats for too long. We could wipe the others out or conquer them, start over. Build a new pack, a united one.”

Build a new pack, made of werebears and werewolves. Not something Aela had ever considered. She'd not even thought it was possible. But they were all Hircine's children after all... she just wasn't sure she wanted Torkild as her mate.

“Aela, you can't be serious. He's a werebear!” Hjordis cried. “He's the one who tried to kill you when we found you. You aren't seriously thinking of founding a pack with him!”

Torkild finally deigned to spare Hjordis a look. “Should we start with her?” he growled and Hjordis reached for her dagger, glaring back. Hircine help her, this could turn into a bloodbath if she wasn't careful.

“No!” she shouted. “Look, stop it, the pair of you. I'm not... look, I have a pack! Back in Skyrim and when all this is done, I'm going back there. With the Rings of Hircine, and Hjordis if she's willing. You aren't coming, Torkild, and I am not your mate!”

“You have a pack?” Torkild said, confused. “But... where are they?”

“They're called the Companions of Ysgramor, and they live in a city called Whiterun,” Hjordis explained, her expression saying no, she didn't understand it either. Torkild's eyes widened.

“In a _city??_ You can't hunt in a city! Is she – Red Wolf, tell me it's not true.” Torkild's face turned to disappointment as he realised it was. “By Hircine, Red Wolf. No wonder you're resisting. Well, never mind. Stay here, we can teach you how it's supposed to be.”

Hjordis actually raised her eyebrows at this, eyeing Torkild up with rather more appreciation now.

“Never thought I'd be agreeing with a werebear. But he's right, Aela. Stay here, we could form a pack, the three of us. You can be alpha, if you want Torkild as mate, I don't object. We could run Solstheim together, get a few recruits in, unite all our old territories.”

“I said no!” Aela cried, not even realising until the prospect got put before her that she no longer wanted it. Jorrvaskr was home, Skyrim was home, her mother's line went all the way back to Hrotti Blackblade. Beast blood be damned. She was a Companion first.

Torkild and Hjordis had both gone still. Hjordis looked a little bit afraid, and Torkild... he was staring at her as if he saw her for the first time. He looked utterly betrayed, but he got himself under control quickly enough.

“You will not triumph against those werebears without my help,” he said, face closing up as he hid all emotion. “Fight them if you will, I care not. When you realise you need my help after all... come find me.” 

Without another word, he was gone, striding off into the undergrowth. Aela shivered. Torkild unsettled her deeply but he had a point about the werebears. They were strong. But she was a Companion, and Companions did not give up just because a job was difficult. 

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Companions did not give up because a job was difficult, Vilkas kept telling himself. Just because there'd been ashspawn... and more ashspawn... and burnt Spriggans... and those ash spider things... and then that detour to Fort Frostmoth on Captain Velekh's behalf where they'd found an undead Imperial commander who'd been trying to attack Raven Rock and had to deal with him. Admittedly Vilkas had got a nice warhammer out of the deal with some very nice enchanting on it which he'd kept as a present for Farkas, but all the same, it had been a hard fight and Ria had suffered particularly badly until she'd remembered she was Dragonborn and Shouted him down. Then the Sun Stone and unsurprisingly a Lurker guardian. Another tough fight, and Vilkas was starting to get a little tired of all this. Finally Tel Mithryn, a house made out of a giant mushroom and some strange levitation spell that carried him and Ria up to the top, and Vilkas at that point realised he would never understand elves.

“Oh gods,” was all Vilkas felt able to say when he finally arrived on the platform. This Neloth was insane, he had to be, who would seriously think this was a way to build a house? 

Ria was already up and about – despite being prone to seasickness, she seemed fine with flying. She was already off seeking out this Neloth, who turned out to be an older Dunmer in fine wizard robes. 

“Nelo – I mean, Master Neloth sir, I'm Ria, we met in Raven Rock – briefly. Sort of. Er, I'm Cicero's daughter, I'm here on his behalf. We need help. Magical help.”

Even starting to babble a bit like her father, and what was worse, Vilkas realised with a vague sense of horror he not only didn't mind – it was cute.

Neloth looked up, looked her up and down, then turned to him, seeming rather intrigued.

“So he found a way to rouse you as well! How fascinating. I knew he would of course, the normal rules don't really ever apply to Dragonborns.”

Cicero wouldn't qualify as normal by any stretch of the word, even before becoming Dragonborn. But Vilkas said nothing, letting Ria do the talking. Wizards always made him uneasy.

“We learnt a Shout that transferred control of the All-Maker Stones to me instead of Miraak. I can tap their power now and they're not enslaving people,” Ria explained. “And everyone woke up, including Vilkas. But we still need to stop Miraak! When we kill dragons, he can turn up and take the soul! Apparently each one brings him closer to returning. We think he got his abilities from Black Books and we found one, but it didn't help. We were wondering if you knew anything about them. Storn of the Skaal says you have one, you were asking questions...” She looked hopefully at Neloth, holding out the Black Book Cicero had given her. Neloth just raised an eyebrow as he took it, deliberately not opening it, before handing it back.

“So he's in Apocrypha. And a disciple of Hermaeus Mora clearly. Well now, isn't that interesting. Much is now explained. What I can't understand is why the Dragonborn would transfer control of the Stones to you – wait. You said he was your father.” Neloth looked Ria over, definitely grinning now. “So you are Dragonborn too. That is how you were able to wake yourself once given a little push from your father. Yes, I do see a little resemblance. A second Dragonborn – third if you count Miraak. How very exciting! Well, the Skaal were right, I do have another Black Book – but it is quite unconnected with Miraak. No, no, don't ask me how I know, you would never comprehend the details. Suffice it to say, the Book I have was never possessed by Miraak... but it's helped me find the locations of others. I think I may know where one he once used may be found.”

“You do?” Ria gasped, exchanging hopeful glances with Vilkas. “Where is it?”

“Not far from here, you'll be pleased to know. Of course, you'll be less pleased to know it's in a half-sunken Dwemer ruin called Nchardak. I'd have retrieved it myself, but well, you'll see when we get there. At least the state of the place means no Falmer. Probably.”

Vilkas didn't like the sound of that at all. He hated Dwemer ruins at the best of times, avoided them when he could. Now he had to search one for one of these damn Black Books? 

“Wonderful,” Vilkas snapped. “And you're just giving us this information out of the goodness of your heart, are you?” He'd been in the elf's company about half an hour if that and already he was fairly convinced Neloth didn't really have any goodness in his heart.

“Certainly not,” Neloth sniffed. “But I've been after this book myself for some time and needed time to work out a way to access it. But now you're here and you can help. You can also do the tedious work of reading it and working out what's in there for me. Should it prove useful to me, I will take the book after you've got what you need to. Should it prove useless, I am saved the bother of having to go to all the trouble myself at least.”

Bloody mages. But at least all he wanted was the book afterwards and Vilkas was quite willing to leave it with him. Let the elf go mad from Mora's influence if he liked.

“Done, where is this place?” Vilkas said, keen to get this over with.

“We'd be happy to help, thank you,” Ria said meekly, but not so meekly she didn't elbow Vilkas in the side to shut him up.

“What was that for?” Vilkas muttered as they followed Neloth out. 

“You could be a little more polite!” Ria hissed. “He's a master wizard! And he's helping us out for nothing other than keeping the Black Book once we're done. Show a bit of civility!”

“I am being perfectly polite,” Vilkas said, feeling a bit hard done by here. “Just because I'm not kissing his backside every other word.”

“ _Nords,_ ” he heard Ria muttering under her breath, shaking her head. Honestly, typical Imperials. Afraid of wizards and super obsequious to someone they'd only just met just because he was a mage with a fancy house. In Skyrim, it was generally understood that even a Jarl had to visit the privy like everyone else and while you treated one with respect, a good Jarl met his people halfway. Ulfric had known that, it was the secret of his success. Elisif seemed to realise it too, or maybe having been shoved into power just meant she'd never really learnt to be queen. But as for all this sir business to a man not even a king and definitely not Vilkas's king – true Nords did not bow the knee to someone unless they'd been beaten in a fair fight, and Companions even more so.

There was very little Vilkas actually liked about this situation, but Ria seemed determined. So until he could find another way to find out how to defeat Miraak, he supposed he'd have to put up with it.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Night on Solstheim. Barely a sound of creatures scurrying in the undergrowth, and the wind on the hilltops. Out on a ruin in the middle of the island, three werebears were sitting around their fire, admiring their pretty new rings taken from the werewolves and waiting for their alpha to return.

At least, they were until arrows flew from the darkness, one piercing the throat of the pack second and killing him instantly, and another hitting the junior pack member, injuring but not killing.

The pack third, now newly promoted, got up, roaring his fury and shifting into his werebear form to meet these intruders, and his junior colleague did likewise, ignoring the blood dripping from his wounds.

“Death to the werebears!” a woman shouted, more arrows flying their way, and then a werewolf sprung down, launching herself at the already wounded bear while her still-human friend's arrows found their mark in the other one. But in beast form, a werebear was far harder to kill, and they'd lost the element of surprise.

Aela kept firing, hoping her arrows would pin the bear down before it could rally and go for her... but no luck. It was shrugging off her bowshots, and Hjordis was too busy tearing the other one apart to help. Aela was doomed. But Aela was a Companion and a Nord and she would not run in fear. She kept firing.

The werebear shrugged aside the arrows, injured but still charging, leaping on to Aela and ripping the bow from her hands. Aela slashed out with her dagger but it wasn't enough. The bear's claws tore into her and she went down, crying out as she did so. As she watched her blood pool out on the snow, Aela felt calm descending. She'd lost. This was it. Hircine would be calling her home. It was done. She'd tried. She hoped Hjordis would be all right. As it was, her mother was in the Hunting Grounds, and Skjor, and others she'd fought alongside, a long line of Shield-Brothers and Sisters gone before. Who needed Sovngarde?

The last thing Aela saw as she closed her eyes was a huge shape leaping over her, another werebear joining the fight and knocking her attacker off her, claws tearing in as two werebears fought, and then Hjordis in beast form joining in too.

_I'm avenged at least._ And then Aela knew no more.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Pain. Blurred vision. But warmth and firelight too, not snow, and where was she? Was this the Hunting Grounds?

“Aela?” Hjordis and this couldn't be the afterlife, Hjordis had been winning that fight, along with that werebear – well, she knew who that had been.

“Hjordis?” Aela whispered, eyes slowly focusing as she realised Hjordis was kneeling at her side and they were in a wooden house that looked similar to Whiterun's buildings – the Skaal Village? “How'd I get here? What happened?” She tried to sit up and pain ripped through her as she did so. She'd been hurt and she was still bandaged and sore... but she'd been successfully treated. Someone had got her to safety.

“You were hurt,” Hjordis whispered. “Really hurt! But we had some healing potions and they worked, and then he carried you all the way here. He was a Skaal once, you know, his brother lives here. This is his house.”

“He?” Aela said, but she didn't need to ask, she knew who he was. “Oh gods, Torkild?”

Hjordis nodded, actually looking rather proud of him. “That's the one! You should have seen him fight, he was amazing! He just tore into that werebear like he wasn't even there.”

Aela reached out for the healing potions that had been left out for her and drank them all, slowly hauling herself out of bed and sitting upright.

“Where is he now?” she asked wearily.

“Not here,” Hjordis said softly. “He brought you into the village, shouted for their healer, Storn and he was able to treat you. Then Wulf, Torkild's brother shows up, and it turns out they all know you, something about you helping the Dragonborn save their village? So obviously Wulf says you can stay here, and they looked a bit suspiciously at me but they're letting me stay too, and as for Torkild, Storn gave him the lecture about consorting with Daedra and forsaking the All-Maker, but didn't actually banish him, so that's something. Torkild and Wulf spent ages talking together, none of the others will give him the time of day, but I don't think Torkild cares. He was just worried about you. He really likes you, you know.”

_And he did just save my life again. Even after I told him no, he came back._ Aela still didn't want to be Queen of the Solstheim Weres, and she definitely didn't want Torkild. But all the same, she felt a little more charitable towards him. He had some semblance of honour, at least.

“You never said where he went,” Aela said, wondering where he'd gone. She couldn't sense him anywhere nearby.

“We got three of the rings off the dead werebears,” Hjordis said quietly, holding up two of them. “But their alpha's still out there with the fourth. Once Torkild knew you were going to be all right, and had finished talking with his brother, he left. He took one of the rings with him, the Ring of Bloodlust. Aela, I think he went after the werebear alpha.”

“By the gods,” Aela swore, reaching for her clothes. “We have to get after him, the idiot'll be killed.” She resolutely ignored the smug look on Hjordis's face.

“Thought you didn't like him,” she purred.

“I don't,” Aela snapped. “Didn't. But to take the Ring of Bloodlust... isn't that the one that makes you more dangerous but also more vulnerable?”

“That's the one,” Hjordis nodded. “But I've used it before, it always worked out. If you take the foe down quickly, you're fine!”

“He's facing an alpha werebear with a ring of his own, it will not be quick,” Aela said, getting dressed and ignoring the pain. “Hjordis, which ones have we still got?”

“Ring of the Hunt and Ring of the Moon – Aela, you're really not strong enough for this,” Hjordis began.

“I don't care, I'm not letting him get killed and that alpha end up with two of the rings,” Aela said fiercely. “Hircine help me, that alpha has the Ring of Instinct then.” The one that seemed to slow the world down and make it easier to anticipate your opponent's moves, and dammit why didn't Torkild think these things through? What was it with men and their inability to involve anyone else in their insane schemes? Skjor had done the same and look what had happened to him – stabbed by the very Dark Brotherhood he'd been trying to bring down after making the monumentally stupid mistake of abducting and torturing one of their members. Because he'd not involved anyone else. Now here was Torkild trying to be all noble and doing the same.

Hjordis sighed and handed over the rings. “Well, you're the one with your beast form still good to go, it'll be a few hours before mine comes back. You'd better take these. Not that you're going alone, I might add. I'm coming with you and we're going to get those rings.”

Hopefully before Torkild got himself killed. Aela didn't say it though. She wasn't sure if she liked him or not, but he'd saved her life. Somehow she'd started to see him as a pack brother despite herself. She wasn't going to let him get killed on her account.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

It took time, but Torkild's trail was easy enough to follow. Aela and Hjordis trekked across half the island until they got to the ruin again, where two werebears were tearing into each other. Aela was just in time to see one tear into the other and the losing werebear falling to his knees, screaming as he shifted back into his human form, helpless against the other. 

“Torkild,” Aela gasped, horrified as the victorious alpha ripped into him. “Gods, no.” 

Hjordis had already raised her bow to shoot, and Aela without even realising it had slipped the Ring of the Hunt on to her finger and started the change.

Moments later, Aela was howling, twin wolf spirits joining her as she bounded down the slope, taking the werebear by surprise, claws curving into his flesh. She kept on howling, Hjordis's arrows helping out, Hircine's Ring helping her fight through the pain as her wounds were already healing, and the werebear didn't stand a chance. It died without ever really being able to fight back, falling victim to Aela in all her fury. Finally, she was done, rolling off him as the bloodlust eased and her beast form faded and she was human again.

Hjordis had left her clothes out for her and was presently kneeling next to Torkild, a healing potion held to his lips, but it wouldn't be enough. Torkild was barely clinging on to life, lying in a pool of his own blood.

“Torkild, you stupid man, what did you do?” Aela whispered, not even caring she was naked still, clutching her armour to her. “What were you thinking??”

“Red Wolf,” Torkild gasped. “You came back for me.”

Aela shook her head, rubbing at her face as she realised she was crying. “You idiot, you're going to die doing this, why didn't you wait for me to help?”

“You said no,” Torkild rasped, smiling despite the agony he must be in. “Didn't seem worth living... without you. Thought you might... change your mind... if I got the ring... or else I'd die... and then it'd be done.”

“Torkild, it doesn't work like that,” Aela whispered, feeling drained, exhausted and this was like Skjor all over again, another Shield-Brother lost even if Torkild would have made a terrible Companion. Too wild, but Aela had respected that in him if nothing else.

“I know...” Torkild gasped, blood dribbling from his lips and he didn't have much time, Aela knew that, but clearly he had something to say before death claimed him. Aela took his hand, giving him that comfort at least.

“Aela...” he whispered, and he'd never used her name before, never acknowledged she was more than a beast, someone to mate with. “My... Red Wolf... mind going... beast... taking over... losing self... but you... reminded me... I am still... a man...” He closed his eyes, hand going limp in hers as he fell into the sleep from which there was no waking.

Aela let him go, feeling her heart break which was ridiculous, she'd not loved him, not even found him attractive... but now he was dead and here she was mourning and missing him. Mourning what might have been even though it wasn't something she'd wanted.

“Aela,” Hjordis whispered. “Aela, are you all right?” She had her arms around her, holding her as she cried, rubbing her back and soothing her.

“Stupid man,” Aela sobbed. “Stupid, stupid man, why did he have to come alone, of all the stupid...”

“Yes, they invariably are,” Hjordis sighed. “Always wanting to look like the hero. Still, worked, didn't it? He may have died, but here you are, bawling your eyes out over him.”

Aela pulled herself together, drying her eyes.

“I'm not bawling,” she told Hjordis sternly. “I didn't even like him. He's just...” Just what? Aela had no idea where to even start with that, but she did know what needed doing. Torkild wasn't some nameless feral. He had kin, a family. A brother who he'd cared enough about to carry a letter to in case he died and never got to see him again.

“Let's get him back to the Skaal Village,” Aela sighed. “He deserves a decent burial at least.”

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Wulf had been inconsolable to see his brother's remains and even though the Skaal hated what he'd become, they cared enough about his memory to organise a swift funeral. They weren't sentimental people, but they took care of their departed. Aela and Hjordis looked on, neither really feeling part of this, but knowing they'd not get another chance to say goodbye.

Afterwards, Wulf came to see Aela.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For the letter and for bringing him back, telling his story. I can't understand why he'd choose to follow the weres, but he had his reasons. At least I know he died a man in the end, rather than losing his mind to the beast. At least I got to say goodbye. I had a feeling he was intending to go to his death. Something in his eyes told me he wasn't coming back.”

“He's an idiot,” Aela said softly. “Was... he had some crush on me. Kept calling me Red Wolf, wanted to sire my children. He was trying to impress me, I think. I'm sorry, Wulf, I didn't realise...”

“Don't be,” Wulf said, taking her hand. “From that letter you gave me, I could tell he was in trouble of some sort and I suspected the weres had taken him. It isn't an easy path and it's a fine line to walk between man and beast. He told me he feared he was losing his mind to the beast, it was happening more and more often of late – but he also told me when he thought of you, he thought of something beyond the hunt. It was no crush, Aela. He wanted you as a man, although I am willing to believe his manner of courtship left much to be desired.”

“I didn't feel the same,” Aela said, feeling crushed. “I said no. I still don't feel the same. Was I wrong to do so? Should I have said yes to keep him sane?”

“Aela,” Wulf said, taking her other hand. “Had you said yes falsely, I think he would have known and it would have been worse for you both. You did all you could do. My brother made his choices a long time ago. As it is, while I grieve him, I am glad he died a man and that he did not do so alone. Whether he is with Hircine or the All-Maker now, I don't know, but wherever he is, I hope he's at peace. Don't blame yourself, Aela. He followed you freely.”

“Thank you,” Aela whispered. It didn't help much, but it was good to know Wulf didn't blame her. In truth, what could she have done? Kodlak had always said the important thing was to stay true to yourself, even when it was hard and people wanted you to be something else. So she'd done just that. Hard to say if it had turned out for the best and if this was the best, the world had a lot of shaping up to do.

Aela had come here to find a pack, and that had failed spectacularly. The werewolves wiped out, now the werebears too, Torkild dead and just her, Hjordis and four magic rings left to show for it all. And yet... for a few brief hours, there'd been three of them, united. A pack of sorts. Torkild might be gone, but Aela would not forget, and she was sure she'd see him again in the Hunting Grounds. In the mean time, she would hold on to his memory and ensure he'd not died in vain. 

She fingered the rings in her pocket. Four of them, all now hers, although she'd have to share them with Hjordis, she supposed. Eola would also likely be interested, her dark pack sister who knew more than anyone Aela had ever met about the magic that bound them. She wondered if Eola and Hjordis would get along. Probably, once Hjordis had got over her horror of magic. She'd have to see. In the mean time, Aela had realised one thing. Pack meant family, and her pack was composed of more than just werewolves. She'd stay here for now, resting and healing for a day or two. After that, it was time to find Ria and Cicero. Her Dragonborn Shield-Siblings needed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you go, the werewolves plotline DONE! Next chapter, it's back to the main quest as Cicero and Ria meet up again, and hopefully that too will wind up soon. And then all back home to the Reach to find out what's happened in their absence. But that is some way off. Hopefully done in under 30 chapters and hopefully it won't take so long to write those...


	20. Blood Kin Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ria's finding Apocrypha hard work, but dragon blood has its advantages, not least ancestors who do more than just watch. But Apocrypha leads to Mora, and Mora's price is a high one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope, still not abandoned. I'm determined to finish and we are NEARLY THERE. It's just been hard going, this one. But we're getting there. This is the last chapter before the big showdown with Miraak.
> 
> Warning for a rather violent death by tentacle at the end - it was in game but that doesn't make it any less horrible.

Ria hated this place. All of it green and black, and rotting books everywhere, and gloopy green ooze and the **tentacles**. 

It had taken her five attempts just to get through that initial moving passage – she'd kept falling in the acid lake. Not pleasant, although at least it turned out she couldn't actually die here, just get sent back to Solstheim for Neloth to make sarcastic comments about her performance.

She'd finally got past that just to find a tunnel, which folded out into a large chamber... and then two Seekers and a Lurker were on her. 

She'd kept moving, kept running – the Sun Stone's power had dropped one Seeker, and the Beast Stone's power had summoned a werebear which was tearing into the Lurker. Now she was facing off against the other Seeker, knowing the werebear was losing its fight and soon she'd be outnumbered again.

She recalled Cicero teaching her Shouts and coming to one in particular, a gift from Sovngarde. He wasn't sure if it would work for her, wasn't sure if he should teach it to her. Then he'd decided to do it anyway.

“Use only in the direst need,” he told her. “When all this is done, we shall use it together, but best not to use it alone. I do not know how she will react. But she is your nonna, she will want to protect you.”

Blood Kin Return. Sos Fron Daal. The summons to the previous Dragonborn to come from Sovngarde and aid her kin. 

As the Lurker tore the werebear apart and advanced on her, Ria decided this counted as the direst need.

“SOS FRON DAAL!”

The grey summons she'd witnessed before when Cicero had used it in Jorrvaskr coalesced and a short warrior in ebony charged out of it, straight into the Lurker, howling as she charged it down, bashing it with her shield and hammering it with a war axe, then breathing fire all over it. Satisfied the Lurker was in good hands, Ria turned on the Seeker and started hacking it for all she was worth.

Finally it was done, and Mora's minions were no more. Ria sat down exhausted, looking to see if Stelmaria was still there.

She had her helmet off now, looking around anxiously.

“Cicero?” Stelmaria called. “Cicero, where are you? Damn that boy, where's he gone now?? CICERO!”

It occurred to Ria that if Cicero had never told his mother she was his daughter and fellow Dragonborn, Stelmaria would naturally assume her son had called her.

“Stelmaria!” Ria called. “Over here.” 

Stelmaria turned and ran over to where she was sitting, looking hopeful... until she saw no Cicero anywhere.

“Where is he?” Stelmaria whispered. “Where'd he go? Tell me he's not...”

“He's not here,” Ria said, hastily realising that could be misconstrued as she saw the heartbreak in Stelmaria's eyes. “But he's not dead! He's fine, I think. He was off to kill a load of Morag Tong assassins, they kidnapped a friend of his. Stelmaria, it wasn't him who called you, it was me, I needed help...”

“You called me,” Stelmaria said, frowning, but she wasn't disbelieving, she could clearly sense who she was bound to now. “Why – well, I can tell why, but how? Only my bloodkin can use that to summon me, only a Dragonborn could learn that Shout so quickly. Ria – it is Ria, isn't it? You're one of the Companions. Ria, when did you learn to Shout?”

“When I found out I was Dragonborn,” Ria said, staring at her feet, watching the green goo bubble beneath all-too-fragile-looking wrought iron. “Cicero taught me all the Shouts he knew when he realised. He didn't want me to get hurt. I wasn't even sure that one would work but it has.”

“It certainly has,” Stelmaria gasped, coming to sit next to her. “You're another Dragonborn. And an Imperial as well, hah, that's something to talk about. Three Dragonborns and they're all Imperials, you've no idea how put out Ulfric will be. Honestly, how can Hoag be such a sweetheart and his son such an insufferable... but never mind. Dragonborn! And you called me when you needed help.”

Cool spectral touch on her face and Ria looked up to see Stelmaria staring at her, and Ria realised Stelmaria had guessed the truth.

“That Shout only works for my kin, bella,” Stelmaria said, stroking Ria's cheek. “It's possible you're some distant cousin or other... but given your age, I don't think that's the case is it?”

“I'm twenty one years old,” Ria said, feeling a little overwhelmed as she realised it was definitely true, she was really fathered by Cicero. “I never knew my real father. Until we both ended up in Skyrim hunting dragons together. I think Cicero's my papa.”

“I think so too,” Stelmaria said, smiling despite the tears welling up in her own eyes. “Talos help me, my boy's given me a granddaughter. And look at you, you're so brave and so beautiful.” 

“Thank you,” Ria whispered, feeling tears rolling down her cheeks – she had a grandmother! She'd never had grandparents before. Stelmaria might be dead, but knowing she could call her at any time made up for that and Eight help her, that meant Kodlak was her grandfather and Ria really did want to cry at that. She'd looked up to him since joining and to know he was her kin, not just her Harbinger...

Stelmaria put her arms around her and held her, comforting her quietly.

“My little one,” Stelmaria whispered. “My little warrior granddaughter, my little Talosita. I'm so proud of you, bella.”

“Thank you,” Ria said again, not sure what to say to her new grandmother other than that. “Thank you for helping me with the Lurker, nonna.”

“It was nothing, bella,” Stelmaria said gently, letting her go. “Now, I think the spell's about to wear off, but you must not hesitate to call me if you need me. This place looks frankly eldritch. You really shouldn't be here alone. Where are those Shield-Siblings of yours?”

“I left Vilkas behind,” Ria admitted. “I came here through a Black Book of Hermaeus Mora. Vilkas didn't look keen so I came without him.”

“Hermaeus Mora!” Stelmaria cried. “What in Oblivion were you thinking? Aie, this is my son's doing, isn't it? He has left you doing his dangerous mission while he's off slaughtering people. I knew it. Well, no matter, at least I am here now. Come on, bella. Let's not linger in this horrible place.”

Stelmaria faded back into Sovngarde, but Ria got up, feeling a lot more cheerful. She had a grandmother. She wasn't alone in Apocrypha. She'd have help! This place might be a grim and disturbing realm of Oblivion, but at least she wasn't facing it alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

One final corridor filled with what seemed like about eight of those wretched Seeker things, and Ria was rather glad her grandmother's spirit was there, powering through the magic and carving them into pieces in a few blows and a few Shouts.

Finally they were throught to the end – a large pedestal containing a huge Black Book. That had to be it. 

“Bella, this is what you are seeking?” Stelmaria whispered. “Are you sure about this? That thing is evil!”

“There's no other way, nonna,” Ria said quietly, not wanting to touch it either but seeing little choice. “I need to have the same power Miraak does, either me or Cicero needs to and Cicero doesn't want it. So it has to be me.”

Stelmaria acquiesced, but her eyes looked haunted as Ria opened the book... and above them, darkness appeared, a tangled void from which spewed tentacles and black eldritch balls that opened to reveal eyes of evil.

“Greetings, Dragonborn,” Hermaeus Mora gloated. “But not the one I expected. I was looking for the red-haired one who calls himself the Fool, brother to my Champions. Oh, but I see him now. Too afraid to come himself, so he has sent you. His kin.”

“He is not afraid,” Ria snapped. “He's just occupied. And he doesn't want power, never did.”

“True enough,” Stelmaria agreed. “My son is many things, but he's not power-crazed. Demon, you cannot use knowledge as a bait to trap a fool.”

Hermaeus Mora did laugh at that one. “In my experience, the foolish are the first to run to my grasp. But no matter. You seek knowledge, yes, you seek the true power of a Dragonborn – to Shout and bend the world itself to your will.”

“I want Miraak dead,” Ria growled. “If that means learning what he knew, so be it. I just want to fight him and that's it. I'm not touching the power again.”

More laugher as Mora's tentacles writhed and undulated, new eyes appearing and disappearing as he spoke.

“So have said many. They all fall in the end. None can resist the lure of knowledge for long. Knowledge is power... and power corrupts. Here, little Dragonborn. Here is what you seek, the second word of the Thu'um to bend wills – HAH or Mind. Use it to bend mortals to your will.”

Ria felt the Thu'um burning into her mind, and the dragon soul she'd taken at Saering's Watch unlocked it, giving her the power, and she knew, she just knew, that anyone she Shouted it at, from a Jarl to a beggar, would do everything she commanded – for a time at least. Power indeed, and no wonder Cicero hadn't wanted it. Frankly, the thought of Cicero knowing how to do this frightened her, as it should all decent people.

And the worst thing of all was she already knew it wasn't enough.

“And the final Word,” she asked, hating the way her voice trembled as she asked, hated the anticipation as she spoke.

“You see, you have the hunger in you already,” Mora purred. “Yes, you need the final Word, the one that commands dragons themselves, the power Miraak has. Without that, you cannot hope to stand against him. I can teach it to you... but there is a price.”

Of course there was, there was always a price. 

“What is it?” Ria sighed.

“Knowledge for knowledge,” Mora told her. “You bring me knowledge I don't already have, and I will teach you the Word you need.” He moved closer, tentacles reaching out, hovering just shy of Ria's face as she shrank back. “The Skaal have withheld their secrets for too long. I want them. Bring me their shaman, give him to me, and I shall take his knowledge and give you what you seek.”

Sacrifice Storn Crag-Strider to Hermaeus Mora – or at least persuade him to divulge the Skaal's secrets. It seemed like an impossible task, not to mention a betrayal of all the Skaal stood for – and she'd liked Storn and Frea. Turn their entire cultural heritage over to Mora and for what?

Well, saving the world from Miraak was a noble goal, but if she did this thing, was she any better? Mutely, she nodded assent and Mora applauded her commitment before fading, leaving only three gifts of power from the Black Book behind him. Enhancements to her Thu'um from the look of it. Ria chose the one improving Unrelenting Force before turning to Stelmaria.

“Well? Was this truly what you wanted, Ria?” Stelmaria said, arms folded as she stared her granddaughter down. “Selling out an entire people for the sake of one Thu'um?”

“I don't have a choice,” Ria sighed. “I don't think I'll learn it anywhere else, and Miraak has to be stopped. He's an evil tyrant, nonna, he'll enslave the world and I think he'll start with Cicero.”

Stelmaria shivered, but a threat to her beloved boy overrode any other considerations in her mind. 

“Oh, I think not,” Stelmaria snarled, looking just like her son as maternal instincts took over. “He's not having my baby!” She nodded once at Ria as she started to fade back to Sovngarde. “Do what you must, bella. Keep my boy safe, keep the world safe. I will be watching...”

Stelmaria was gone, and Ria was left alone in Apocrypha. Giving the strange realm of ooze and books and tentacles one last glance, Ria touched the Black Book, eager to go home and see colours that weren't green.

~~~~~~~~~ 

“Ria!” Vilkas had her in his arms, holding her up as she staggered back into the world, the Book clutched to her chest. “Ria, thank the gods, are you all right? You were transparent at one point. What happened?”

“I went to Apocrypha,” Ria whispered, clinging on to Vilkas so she didn't collapse. “Hermaeus Mora was there! He taught me the second word to Bend Will, and he'll teach me the third, but only if I get the Skaal to give up their secrets. Vilkas, I can't betray an entire people like that! But if I don't, Miraak will take over the world.”

Vilkas held her, not envying her the decision. Whereas Neloth just shrugged.

“Oh, I think we're getting the better end of the bargain here,” he sniffed. “Hermaeus Mora learns a few new ways to skin a Horker, you get a Shout that can tame dragons. Frankly, I think he's undercharging. Now this Book, what else did it offer? These things always offer a little prize at the end.”

Of all the questions...

“It was just an enhancement to some of my Shouts,” Ria said, wondering what the point was. “Did you want it?”

Neloth shook his head, looking faintly disgusted. “Dragonborn-specific powers, I see. No, no, they're of no use to me. Keep the Book, I can cross that one off the list. I must say, you're looking surprisingly sane for someone who spoke with Mora himself. I'm not sure if that's good or not.”

“Of course it's good!” Vilkas snapped. “Why wouldn't it be?”

“My dear fellow, if Mora hasn't inflicted mind-shattering insanity on her yet, it's only because he's planning it for later on,” Neloth explained patiently. “But no matter. I have to return home to my experiments and you two need to visit the Skaal and persuade them to yield their secrets to Mora. I suspect it's best if no one witnesses it, I imagine it won't be terribly heroic.”

“We're not torturing it out of them!” Vilkas snapped. “What do you think we are??”

Neloth stopped, glancing over his shoulder as he stepped outside.

“You're people who travel with murderers,” he said simply. “You might shrink from it, your little friend in the hat won't.”

With that, the door closed behind him.

“We're not torturing anyone,” Vilkas said firmly. “Are we, Ria?”

“No, of course not,” Ria laughed, a little too brightly. “We'll just go there, explain everything and see what Storn says. Without Cicero being there.”

“And if he says no?” Vilkas asked shrewdly. 

“I don't know,” Ria admitted. “But we won't know until we ask. Come on, Companions don't give up!”

Vilkas looked very dubious but said nothing. As they walked out into the afternoon sun, Ria's smile faded. However this went, someone lost everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

They'd barely got out of Nchardak when the dragon attacked.

“Lord Miraak commands your deaths!” it had cried before breathing fire all over the place.

Ria unsheathed her bow, seeing Neloth's magic firing and Vilkas already taking aim. After Apocrypha, a mere dragon didn't frighten her.

However, this one was tough and after a while Ria was starting to tire. Right up until arrows flew from the mainland, and then a familiar voice shrieking “JOOR ZAH FRUL!”

Cicero, she'd know him anywhere, and on the one hand she felt her heart dance at him coming back, clearly fine and all right. On the other... part of her wanted him far away from this.

Magic flared up from beside him, and ghostly arrows were coming from the spectral form on his other side too, as Cicero himself sprinted over the walkways, his beloved ebony bow clutched in his hand.

“CICERO ENDS YOU, DRAGON!” Cicero howled, not missing once. The dragon roared as it came into land on the platform outside the ruin's entrance, and once it had done that, it was open season. Destruction magic from Neloth, arrows from Cicero and his ghostly friend, his creepy brother raising the corpse of the bandit chief that was still lying around and Ria and Vilkas moving in with their swords for the kill. The dragon fought well, fire disposing of Cicero's ghost friend, but it was weakened and soon succumbed. Cicero saw it die, sheathing his bow and dancing around, having already spotted Ria.

“RIA, RIA, CICERO IS HERE, LOOK!” Cicero squealed. “Ria? Ria, what are you doing, moni, the dragon is dead.”

Ria had pounced on to the dragon's head, clinging on to it, growling at anyone who came near.

“My dragon soul!” she snarled. “Mine!”

As one, everyone looked at Cicero as if this was in some way his fault.

“Yes, yes, of course it is yours, my sweetling,” Cicero cooed nervously. “Cicero would never dream of stealing your kill. There are enough dragons for us both.”

“This dragon is mine!” Ria howled. “No other dragonborn is taking MY KILL!”

Cicero backed off, sidling nervously behind Calixto.

“Brother,” Cicero said, worried. “Cicero is concerned. Cicero fears Ria may have gone mad.”

“Has she? I wonder where she inherited mental instability from,” Calixto said, rolling his eyes. Frankly, Calixto was just surprised it hadn't happened sooner. Maybe Cicero's direct influence had been required for the true madness to become apparent.

The dragon burned and boiled, and its soul swarmed up round Ria, who promptly absorbed it before sliding off the skull and collapsing on the stone.

“GOT IT!” Ria shouted, now quite cheerful. “Cicero, look, I got the soul! The other bastard didn't get there first!”

Cicero peeped out, frowning. Other bastard? Well, clearly not him, and how many other Dragonborns were there? Only Miraak but surely not...

A horrible sense of foreboding overtook him as he ran over to where Vilkas was heping Ria up.

“Ria, Ria, Cicero is here, he has dealt with the treacherous and heretical Morag Tong and rescued sweet Aranea from their clutches and now he is back to help his beloved daughter deal with the impostor Miraak! Tell Cicero what happened, is he dead yet?”

“Of course he's not dead, isn't killing the unkillable meant to be your job?” Vilkas growled. Cicero glared at Vilkas, folding his arms.

“Cicero was under the impression Companions were brave and heroic and killed superior foes all the time,” Cicero said firmly. “Cicero thought death or glory was like mead to you. Is it no longer so?”

“Cicero!” Ria sighed, getting to her feet. “Cut it out. Both of you. Cicero, we've been investigating, with help from Neloth here. We cleansed all the Stones except the Tree Stone, and Neloth helped us find this Black Book where I met Hermaeus Mora and he taught me the second word of the Bend Will Shout. But Cicero, he won't teach me the rest until I persuade the Skaal to hand over their secrets!”

Cicero blinked and scratched his head, before giggling.

“Well, we had better get started then, hadn't we, moni? Don't worry, leave this one to your humble papa, he will happily persuade the Skaal shaman to talk.”

“Oh gods,” Vilkas moaned. “Cicero, we're not torturing the man! We're going about this honourably! What would your father say?”

“Cicero's father isn't here, what he doesn't know will not harm him.”

“Oh, so lying to the Harbinger as well as torturing an innocent man, is it?” Vilkas snapped back. “I'll have no part of this, Cicero!”

“Will both of you stop it!” Ria cried. “We need to stop Miraak before he comes back! Every time we kill a dragon, there's a chance he might steal the soul, and when he has enough, he'll be able to return!”

That did stop Cicero in his tracks.

“Miraak... can steal dragon souls?” Cicero said quietly, and even Vilkas muttered an invocation to the Eight and backed off at that point.

“Yeah,” Ria cried. “We killed one at the Water Stone and the bastard turned up after I'd killed it and swanned off with the soul! Cicero, he said... he was going to make you yield to him and you'd let him...”

Silence, Cicero's grin looking fixed even by his standards... but then he started giggling.

“Hahahaha, ohohoho no no no, Ria should not worry about that!” he cooed, bouncing over to her and tracing fingers down her cheek. “No no, Cicero wouldn't do any such thing, have no fear. Cicero has his sweetling to take care of now, his beloved little girl! And as for Miraak, stealer of souls, defiler of Mother's Temple, he will _pay_ for his treachery! Oh how he will _pay!_ ”

Nothing good in Cicero's eyes as he spoke, nothing short of murder in fact, and Ria shrank away, not sure whether to be afraid of him or afraid of inheriting part of that inner darkness.

Neloth however had barely seemed to notice but he had descended on Calixto.

“Ah, the flesh magician, what a timely occurrence, I was just thinking about you. My research has hit a snag and I could do with your input. Tel Mithryn's not far from here, shall we go?”

“Well, I would but I think Cicero...” Calixto began. Neloth wasn't hearing of it.

“Oh, he doesn't need you,” Neloth said dismissively. “He's got his daughter and the werewolf to help him, he'll be fine. They've done their magical research, it's straight out heroics that are required now – well, that or finely tuned torture if the Skaal don't co-operate, either way they've got it covered. Come on now, I've not got all day.”

With no real option other than to go along with it, Calixto let Neloth bundle him off. Vilkas couldn't help but feel a bit relieved. One murderous lunatic was enough in his mind, and honestly he only put up with Cicero because – _because he saved my life once and he makes me laugh and he's had his moments of genuine kindness and he does sort of have honour_ – because Kodlak and Ria and Farkas all liked him and Cicero did occasionally show the odd flash of resemblance to his father.

So with the mage contingent gone, Cicero, Ria and Vilkas trudged north to the Skaal Village. Time to sacrifice a people to save the world. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

They'd barely been in the Skaal Village before Aela pounced, still sporting a few bandages and scratches but alive and well and not bleeding out on the ground from a werebear's claws. First Vilkas, then Ria then a surprised but pleased Cicero were all on the receiving end of a fierce Nordic hug each.

“Well, you made it then,” Aela said, looking a little awkward as she got her emotions under control again. “Not that I'm not pleased to see you alive, but how did you know I'd be here?”

“We didn't,” Ria said. “But I'm glad you are! Did you get those ring of Hircine off the werebears?”

Aela held up a hand with one ring on it and jangled her purse with the other three in there. “I got them,” she said, sadness in her eyes. “And Hjordis agreed to come back to Jorrvaskr with me.”

Hjordis emerged, looking a bit awkward with all these people around and she took one look at Cicero and placed a hand on her dagger. Cicero beamed back at her, trying to look friendly but in reality just looking deranged.

“Hello!” Cicero chirped. “Cicero hasn't met you before! Hello, new Shield-Sister!”

“Please tell me he doesn't live at Jorrvaskr,” Hjordis said nervously. “Aela, you said your pack consisted of honourable warriors.”

“Cicero is an honourable warrior!” Cicero protested, looking a bit hurt. “Sometimes, anyway,” he admitted, that particular falsehood being a bit much even for him.

“He's the Harbinger's son,” Vilkas sighed. “Which means we're stuck with him. Don't worry, he's sworn not to harm Companions in good standing.” He clapped Cicero on the back with rather more force than was strictly necessary, but Cicero did take the hint and nod vigorously at Hjordis.

“Cicero would never hurt a friend of sweet Aela's!” Cicero cooed. Hjordis didn't look convinced but did relax a little on hearing from Ria he didn't live at Jorrvaskr full-time and was just fine with werewolves.

Introductions done, it was time to break the news to Storn that Mora's price for assistance was his people's secrets. They found him sitting quietly outside his hut, meditating in the snow while Frea looked on. He seemed calm, almost as if he'd expected this.

“So,” he said quietly on hearing Ria's faltering explanation of why they were there. “You have followed in Miraak's footsteps and found Herma-Mora waiting. And in return for giving you the knowledge you need to face Miraak, he demands our secrets. Of course he does. Mora gives nothing for free. There are always strings attached.”

“Father, you can't mean to agree to this,” Frea gasped. “These are our sacred traditions! You always told me it was our solemn duty to keep them secret and safe! To keep them out of Mora's clutches!”

“I know, and that is the case,” Storn sighed. “But it is also the shaman's task to know when the time is right to give them up. All the stories agree Mora will one day win. It is simply a matter of when.”

“Does it have to be now?” Frea cried. Then her panic gave way to sadness as she stared at her father. “Does it have to be you?”

“If not me, another,” Storn said quietly, getting up and making his way over to his daughter, taking her hands in his. “I would not wish this on those to follow me. I would not wish it on you.”

Ria felt a lump in her throat as she watched this, and as she felt a small knot of rage at having to fight Miraak because her own far more skilled father couldn't, she felt a hand on her own, then another, and realised Cicero was snuggling against her. She looked and saw him staring pathetically up at her, sadness in his own eyes and she couldn't hold it against him. She put an arm round him and held him close, suddenly wanting him there. She couldn't really think of him as father, not quite. But he was still her kin. Still someone she loved.

Frea was staring at the snow, tears glittering on her cheeks.

“If you think it best, father,” she said softly. Storn patted her on the cheek and turned his attention back to the two Dragonborns, one young warrior and one seasoned assassin who was presently clinging on to her like a needy child.

“I do not wish to yield up our secrets, I must confess,” Storn said, resignation in his eyes and voice. “But Miraak's return would be the death of us anyway. It seems I have little choice. But the All-Maker's power is returning to the land, clearer and cleaner than it was. The Stones are free, all but the Tree Stone. I hope it is enough. It will have to be. You have my thanks for that at least, Dragonborns.”

“Sweet Ria did most of the work,” Cicero said, blushing a little. 

“I had help with all of them,” Ria told him. Then she turned back to Storn, one further question occurring to her. “Why does Hermaeus Mora want your secrets? What do you know that he could possibly want?”

Storn laughed bitterly. “Young one, it is not the value of the secrets in themselves that he wants. Only that we know them and he does not. They are not things that will set the world alight. They are simple things, how to listen to the wind and talk to the trees, the knowing of the ways of beasts and the treachery of the snow. They are no great magics we hide. But that we have hidden them, that is an affront to one who claims to know all. But if Miraak triumphs, then our secrets will be gone forever and none will know them. Maybe this is the All-Maker's will. If it be so then may he protect me and all who come after. If not... may he and the ancestors forgive me. Now, where is this book. Let us face the Prince of Dark Arts together.”

“Father, no!” Frea cried out as Ria handed him the book.

“You don't have to do this-” Ria began, only to have Cicero nudge her in the side.

“Now, now, moni, if the nice Skaal shaman insists on sacrificing himself, who are we to stop him?” Cicero giggled, horrible fixed grin on his face. Ria closed her mouth and let Storn take the book, then took both Cicero's hands in hers, really not wanting to watch this. She was vaguely aware of Aela and Hjordis also holding each other, half the village watching, and then Vilkas standing behind her, strong, safe, reliable Vilkas, putting his arms around her and Cicero both, and Ria leaned into him, needing the comfort. To her surprise, Cicero did likewise, letting go of her with his left hand and putting his arm round Vilkas, and to her even bigger surprise, Vilkas responded by ruffling Cicero's hair a little and bringing him closer. And that simple gesture of affection made Ria want to hug Vilkas and never let him go.

Storn held the book, kneeling in the centre of the village and shooting Frea one last look.

“Don't fear for me, daughter,” he said quietly. “This is the destiny the All-Maker has put in front of me. Nothing lasts forever, Frea. Not even us.”

“Then I stand beside you,” Frea whispered, wiping a tear away. “As always.”

“I know,” Storn said softly before turning back to the book. “Now to see what Mora has in store for me. Don't worry, I will make sure he honours his word.”

Storn opened the book and stared into its pages... and Mora struck. Tentacles shot out, horrific, slimy black-green things that enveloped his body and then speared it, going through his chest and abdomen and eyes, lifting him off the ground as the book hovered and Mora himself materialised, laughing.

“At last,” Mora laughed. “The Skaal yield up their secrets to me!”

“You... liar...” Storn gasped with the last of his breath. “Not... for you... aaagghhh!”

“Father!” Frea cried, pale and horrified, and Ria wanted to look away but couldn't. Even Cicero was snuggling up against Vilkas and whimpering.

“Dragonborn,” Mora purred, one of those horrific eyes turning to Ria while Storn gurgled his last and fell limp. “As promised, the final word. You will be either a worthy opponent... or his successor.”

The final Thu'um echoed in Ria's mind – DOV, the power to control even dragons, and the soul of the dragon she'd killed at Nchardak unlocked it for her. GOL HAH DOV. Bend Will – the mind control Shout was hers, and part of her was already craving the chance to test it.

The tentacles withdrew from Storn's lifeless form as Mora faded away, and the Black Book fell to the ground, snapping shut as it did. Ria finally felt able to breathe again, but the heartbreaking sight of Frea rushing to her father's side, howling as she clung on to his body, almost broke her. As it was she tightened her grip on Cicero, feeling perversely glad it wasn't her howling her grief out over her father's mangled remains. 

Finally Frea looked up, tear-stained face glaring at her as she cradled Storn's body in her arms.

“Well? Did you get what you wanted? Was it worth it, Ria?” 

“I don't – I mean, I've got the Shout, I just...” Ria wasn't sure what to say. Storn had gone to his death willingly at least, and it had been Mora's doing, all of it... but she still felt like it was all her fault.

“Then go,” Frea snapped. “Go, do what you must, kill Miraak. My father sacrificed himself so that Miraak would be stopped and Mora's shadow lifted from this land. Do not let it be in vain.”

Ria nodded, reclaiming the Black Book before returning to where the others were waiting.

“This is it, then,” she said quietly. “We've got the power now – well, I have. I know the Shout. So I guess it's down to me.”

“Ria, I'm not letting you -” Vilkas began, but Ria placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“You aren't Dragonborn. This isn't your fight. Vilkas, please. Let me do this.”

“At least take him,” Vilkas said gruffly, nodding at Cicero, who was looking rather pale and frightened... but also rather determined. “That little psychopath can carve his way through anything.”

Cicero nodded fervently, smiling although it looked horribly fake, the sort of smile which presaged a complete nervous breakdown.

“Yes, yes, Cicero will come!” Cicero chirped. “What sort of father lets his little girl fight his battles for him, hmm? Kodlak would not. Madanach would not. Storn did not.” His voice fell on that last sentence, but his gaze did not leave her face. “We shall face him together, yes moni?”

Ria couldn't deny company would be welcome, even if Cicero did look like he was about to collapse.

“All right,” she whispered. “Let's do this.”

“Somewhere warmer,” Aela put in from where she'd been watching the whole thing with a faint expression of horror. “Let's use their village hall. Everyone else is going to be out here paying respects to Storn for hours.”

So they slipped inside the great hall while the Skaal were preoccupied, finding a quiet space by the fire and some furs to get comfortable on. Then Ria dug out the copy of Waking Dreams they'd found in Miraak's Temple.

“Ready?” Ria whispered, holding it in her lap. Cicero nodded, snaking his arms around her and leaning his head on her shoulder.

“Ready,” Cicero said quietly, eyes wide as she opened the book. Then tentacles snaked out to embrace them both, and as Vilkas cried out in horror, Apocrypha claimed them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about Storn, I couldn't think of a way to save him. But he will be avenged. Next chapter. Oh yes. Next chapter!


	21. At the Summit of Apocrypha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero and Ria are in Apocrypha, and the hunt for Miraak finally comes to an end as the Last meet the First. But victory always has a price, and it turns out Miraak is not the foe Cicero should be worried about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD YOU GUYS! THIS IS IT! THE BIG ONE! I AM SO EXCITED I CAN BARELY BREATHE! Or it might be asthma. I think it might be asthma actually. Never mind.
> 
> At any rate, this is the big battle with Miraak, and the aftermath. I think you will like it. I don't think anyone will have seen this coming.
> 
> Some of you have expressed a desire for Mora to get his. I entirely understand. I think you may like how this one goes. :)

Green sky, green ooze, inches away below a wrought iron lattice, tentacles writhing in the distance. Same old Apocrypha.

“Is this it?” Ria whispered, helping Cicero up. “Is this where you saw Miraak?” 

Cicero nodded, clinging on to her and looking about him nervously. 

“Yes,” he said quietly. “We should not linger. Let us go.”

Ria said nothing, just leading him away. Something bad had happened to him here, something he didn't want to remember or talk about – but something bad and Miraak had done it to him. Broken one who wasn't whole to begin with.

As they opened the nearby book to travel to the next chapter, Ria knew one thing beyond any doubt. Miraak would pay.

Apocrypha was as Apocrypha always was – mindbending, confusing, full of Seekers, a few books lying around, some of which were even useful. Then there were the big ones with glowing eldritch body parts on the front which Cicero was collecting. Ria let him. Partly because the books opened passages up, and partly because it cheered him up.

Then came the pool, and surprise surprise, a Lurker emerged.

“YOL TOOR SHUL!”

“SOS FRON DAAL!”

“FUS RO DAH!”

Stelmaria Shouted the Lurker to the ground and began hacking away at the thing, while Cicero fired arrows into it. Ria unsheathed her own sword and ran after Stelmaria, joining her grandmother and the Lurker soon died.

“Well done, bella,” Stelmaria said, sheathing her blade. “You did well.”

“Thank you,” Ria gasped, still shaking from the after-effects of the poison. “Couldn't have done it without your help. And Cicero helped too...”

“MAMA!” Cicero squealed, bouncing over. “Mama, Mama, hello! Wait. Cicero didn't call you... oh.”

“Cicero!” Stelmaria said, disapproving. “Why didn't you tell me you'd had a little girl?”

Cicero flushed bright red, giggling nervously. “Er... because Cicero didn't know, Mama. Cicero only found out a few days ago! Cicero was unaware! Until sweet Ria turned out to be Dragonborn.”

“And you didn't tell me then either,” Stelmaria said, still frowning. “Honestly, Cicero. Am I to take it you were never married to Ria's mother?”

Inaudible mumbling from Cicero as he shook his head.

“Engaged? Vows of love of any kind exchanged?” Stelmaria sighed, knowing the answer was no. “You never saw her again, did you?”

“It wasn't safe!” Cicero protested. “Cicero never was able to. Cicero never knew! But had he known there was a child, he might have gone back!”

Stelmaria shook her head, still disapproving... but the existence of a grandchild had a way of winning her over.

“Well, at least you did give me a grandchild,” Stelmaria said, finally smiling. “And she's absolutely lovely, Cicero. And so talented!”

Now it was Ria's turn to blush as Cicero vigorously agreed and now both he and Stelmaria were smiling at her, both looking very proud. 

“We need to kill Miraak, will you help?” Ria asked, feeling shy. 

“He's the other Dragonborn, isn't he? The first,” Stelmaria said thoughtfully. “The one you wanted that word of power for.” She turned to Cicero, stroking his face. “The one who tried to kill you.”

“Mama, it was nothing serious, people try to kill poor Cicero all the time,” Cicero said, laughing nervously.

“Don't lie to me, boy, he has it in for you specifically, doesn't he?” Stelmaria said softly. “He wants my little boy dead, or worse, as some sort of pet!”

Cicero didn't answer but real fear and shame had crept into his expression. Stelmaria patted his arm, looking heartbroken.

“Of course I'll help. My boy is not for stealing!” Stelmaria said, narrowing her eyes as she started to fade back to Sovngarde. “Cicero, sweet Cicero, never fear. I'd never let him harm you...”

“Mama...” Cicero whispered, looking haunted and not a little embarrassed – but he didn't turn away. He just stood there looking mournful until finally she was gone.

He blinked for a few seconds before turning to Ria, horrible fake jaunty smile on his face.

“Mama likes you!” he cooed. “I knew she would! She does not approve of poor Cicero's disgraceful conduct as a young man, but Cicero knew that, and anyway if he'd still had his mama to guide him, he would have chosen a better path, would he not. Oh but it is done, and you are here, and Mama likes you! That is the important thing, hmm?”

Ria couldn't stop herself hugging him, wishing she could stop worrying about him quite so much. He was one of the most dangerous men in Skyrim, if not the most dangerous, and yet at the same time very fragile and vulnerable and easily damaged. And Ria had no idea how to fix it, or at least fix what Miraak had done. Maybe Delphine or Eola would know. Maybe Kodlak might have an idea.

All Ria could do was keep Cicero safe, get rid of Miraak and get Cicero home safely and back with his loved ones. That was going to be difficult enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finally they reached what Ria hoped was the last chapter. There'd been a tough fight with several Seekers, and then the harder task of persuading Cicero to give up the books they'd collected and place them on the pedestals. But he did it in the end, after Ria threatened to call Stelmaria back and tell her he was holding up the entire mission. Cicero sulked and whined about disloyal and ungrateful children who did not appreciate their poor unloved fathers, but he did do it.

The sulks lasted until they passed to the next chapter, and then the sight of a Word Wall cheered Cicero right up.

“Oooh. OOOOH! RIA RIA LOOK!” Cicero broke out into a run... and then the Seekers materialised.

Fortunately, two Seekers were well within their capabilities by this point, and soon the things were dead and Cicero and Ria were staring at the Word Wall.

It was the third word of Dragon Aspect. Cicero actually squealed to see it.

“Look, moni, LOOK! Now we can wear Dragon Aspects like he can!”

“But I'm out of dragon souls,” Ria said mournfully. Cicero turned to her, grin in place, a genuine evil grin, just like his old self, and Ria couldn't help but find it comforting.

“Cicero isn't,” Cicero purred, and moments later, Cicero was gifting her with his knowledge of the Thu'um. This being two Dragonborns was really starting to come in handy. Particularly when the dragon turned up.

“JOOR ZAH FRUL!” Cicero Shouted, which had it crashlanding but didn't really help, especially when it began crawling towards them.

“That is the ugliest dragon I've ever seen,” Ria whispered.

“It is Miraak's!” Cicero growled. “Miraak's little pet. Cicero shall end you, dragon!”

Ria's mind had never been damaged like Cicero's. Ria might be young, she might have chosen a path of honour, but she was as cunning as Cicero ever had been in his prime... and she saw what he did not.

“GOL HAH DOV!”

The Shout hit the dragon, and it immediately stopped trying to eat Cicero, turning to face her instead.

“Hail, Thuri,” it growled. “Shall we fly together?”

“Yes,” Ria said, hardly daring to believe it had worked. Cicero had also sheathed his blades, cooing in delight. “I need to find Miraak. Will you take me and my father here to see him?”

“Of course!” the dragon said. “Climb on, both of you.”

“You did it,” Cicero breathed in her ear as he helped her mount the dragon before scrambling on behind her. “You have the power to command dragons! Cicero is so proud of you!”

Ria squeezed the hands wrapped round her waist, wishing her nerves weren't getting in the way of appreciating the praise. With a draconic airlift, the fight with Miraak got all the closer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Finally, the dragon soared over a high tower in the middle of the ooze, one with two other dragons soaring around it... and Miraak standing on the central platform. 

“There he is!” Ria gasped. Cicero's grip tightened and a little growl escaped from his mouth.

“There he is,” Cicero purred. “Let us end him together, moni!”

The dragon came in to land, Cicero and Ria slithering off before it took to the skies again.

“So easily swayed, Sahrotaar?” Miraak cried. “You disappoint me. No matter.” He advanced towards Cicero and Ria, and in the flesh, he seemed even more intimidating than his spectral form, magic crackling at his fingers. “So. The First Dragonborn meets the last. Ziizahro, I had no idea you'd had a child. An interesting development... but if you think to outnumber me, think again. Neither of you are a match for me... although if you yield now, I can certainly make use of you.”

Ria felt her face flush red and Cicero had gone very pale, gritting his teeth as he glared at Miraak.

“Cicero is never yielding to you!” Cicero hissed. “And you will not lay a finger on sweet Ria! MUL QAH DIIV!”

Cicero's Dragon Aspect flared into life, and the battle was on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The fight was harder than either Cicero or Ria had thought. It seemed to be going so well at first. Miraak's Destruction magic was fierce, but Cicero's armour was fireproof and he didn't seem to mind frost magic either – a legacy from his father, perhaps. 

Cicero's fire breath did stagger Miraak and then the little jester was on him, hacking and slashing frenziedly and reminding Ria that however lovable and friendly Cicero appeared, his wrath was a frightening thing to behold. Especially when it got personal. Ria kept up the arrow support and Miraak was on his knees... and then he reminded them both he too was Dragonborn.

“FEIM ZII GRO!”

What should have been a deathblow from Dragonbane swept harmlessly through Miraak's ethereal form, and then Miraak was calling to one of his dragon pets that had joined the fight.

“Relonikiv! Zii los dii du!”

The dragon landed and then both Cicero and Ria watched in horror as Miraak snatched the soul from it, turning it from living dragon to a skeletal heap, and promptly healed back to full strength.

Cicero promptly went purple.

“But... but... but THAT IS CHEATING!” Cicero shrieked, gesticulating at Miraak. “THAT IS NOT ALLOWED! HOW DID YOU DO THAT? HOW? THAT IS NOT EVEN A PROPER THU'UM!”

“I know more than the Greybeards could ever teach you, Ziizahro,” Miraak purred. “Join me and I could show you.”

“NEVER!” Cicero howled and the fight was on again. Cicero sprinted towards Miraak, swords raised, but Miraak had his staff and he had his voice. Unrelenting Force had Cicero staggering back, and then Miraak's staff had tentacles flying his way. The poison bit into him and Cicero wailed as he sank to his knees.

Ria's own temper flared, and shrieking her own Dragon Aspect into life, she sprang forward, sword and shield at the ready... and the Sun Stone's fire bursting from her. 

Miraak raged as the flames took hold, but somehow he survived to face her.

“Hermaeus Mora is laughing at us, you know,” Miraak snapped at her. “What promises did he make you, hmm? He breaks them all.”

“I have all I need from him,” Ria hissed. “And let him laugh. You hurt my father, you bastard. You're going to die!”

Ria's ebony weapon clashed with the tentacled thing Miraak was wielding, and the fight began.

And to Ria's surprise, she was winning. Miraak was a master mage, but it appeared at close quarters, he was no better with a sword than she was – worse if anything. And so Ria duelled him, pressing her advantage home and pushing him back, and then an ebony arrow to Miraak's chest told Ria Cicero had recovered.

Another one swiftly followed, and then Miraak did it again. Kruziikrel was the next dragon to have its life and soul ripped out to heal Miraak, and the fight rolled on.

On and on it went, Shouts flying around, Cicero summoning a Dremora, Ria Shouting for Stelmaria, Miraak nearly buckling but at the last moment, sacrificing Sahrotaar this time. It was very frustrating but at length there were no dragons left and Ria was pressing home the advantage once more as Miraak staggered back, bleeding and gasping for breath as he crouched by the edge of the platform.

“I shall kill you, Miraak,” Ria gloated, raising her sword to strike. “Hope you don't go to Sovngarde. My nonna's waiting for you there.”

“May she welcome you with open arms,” Miraak said casually, and as Ria charged him down, he slipped out of the way, struck her with his sword, kicked her in the back and then Unrelenting Force and her own momentum sent Ria flying over the edge.

The last thing that went through her mind before the green ooze took her was a mental note never to face a foe on a clifftop ever again.

Cicero watched as his daughter went falling to her death, his little girl gone and everything went still. For while Ria had died dozens of times during her first trip to Apocrypha and knew you didn't really die, Cicero had kept her safe so far this time and had never died in Apocrypha himself.

All Cicero knew was that his little girl was gone, Miraak had killed her and how was he supposed to tell Stelmaria this?? Kodlak? Vilkas?

_I meant to keep you safe, moni. Forever and always._

Miraak was casting a healing spell and getting up, walking slowly over to Cicero.

“And now that's over with,” Miraak purred, reaching out to stroke Cicero's cheek. “Shall we take up where we left off?”

Miraak didn't know Cicero all that well. Miraak didn't realise the stillness, the fixed grin, all that hid something far more dangerous. All he saw was someone who'd yielded to him before and might well do so again. 

All he saw in that moment was not Cicero, but another entirely. As Miraak slipped his arms around Cicero and pulled him into an embrace, only one name escaped his lips.

“Saering...”

“Yes,” Cicero whispered, closing his eyes and reaching out to slide his hands over Miraak... hands that were suggestive – exploring. Miraak had never been a thief nor trained with them – he might be a Dragon Priest but he had a Nord's sense of fair play. He didn't even realise Cicero's hands had found the ebony dagger that Miraak had taken from him until it was too late.

“My name,” Cicero whispered as Sylvana's other gift to him slipped back into his palm where it belonged, “is CICERO!”

The dagger sunk deep into Miraak's kidneys, years of practice at this sort of thing guiding Cicero's aim expertly to where it would hurt and immobilise, and Miraak cried out, slumping in Cicero's embrace.

“I always fill my contracts, Miraak,” Cicero hissed, grinning viciously as he struck again... and again. “Say hello to Mother for me!” 

The knife flashed down again and again, an assault so hard and fast and frenzied Miraak couldn't fight him off or summon his magic, and one of the earlier strikes had slid between his ribs and punctured a lung. Intentionally on Cicero's part. If Cicero knew anything, it was stabbing. Stabbing and fire.

“YOL TOOR SHUL!” Cicero shrieked, and Miraak managed a gurgle before collapsing, dead, his blood pooling out on Apocrypha's twisted black architecture. 

Cicero sank to his knees, exhausted and tired and worn out and grieving and... Ria was gone. His little girl was gone. Miraak had killed her. He'd lost his mon-se-Ziizahro, sweet Ria. Miraak was dead but it didn't seem to matter. Nothing mattered except that he'd never see his daughter again.

And so Cicero knelt by Miraak's corpse, motionless as the soul boiled out of the First Dragonborn, twelve in all, twelve dragon souls sinking into Cicero, leaving nothing but a mask, sword and robes and Miraak's skeletal remains.

 _I never even got to see his face and now that marvellous cock is gone forever._ Cicero shut his eyes, wiping the tears away and gods damn it, he really shouldn't be crying for the man who'd killed his daughter. But he was, he was. He really was the Last Dragonborn now, and he really didn't want to be.

More than anything, Cicero hated being alone.

Then eyes and tentacles materialised, and Cicero wasn't.

“Greetings, Dragonborn,” Hermaeus Mora crooned. “Good to meet you at last. I've been following you, young Cicero. Most impressive.”

“Oh, it is not so very much,” Cicero said softly, eyes not leaving Miraak. “Cicero is just a humble little fool who likes stabbing people. That's all. And if an awful lot of dangerous people have needed stabbing of late, that is not Cicero's business to question. Cicero just carries out his contracts.”

“Indeed,” Mora purred. “You are a loyal and faithful servant. I can use one of those. I need a new Dragonborn now the previous one's gone.”

Something prickled down Cicero's spine, a dark sense of foreboding. Something was not right, and those tentacles were moving closer than he liked. 

“Cicero should be going,” Cicero said nervously. “Cicero really needs to go home, see his Listener, tend to Mother.”

“So soon?” Mora laughed. “And after I've waited all this time to see you. You see, you have something precious, Cicero. You have something valuable. Something I need. Knowledge that I don't have.”

Knowledge? Cicero laughed nervously, crawling backwards, all his hair prickling. He'd seen what had happened to the last person who'd had secrets Mora didn't know.

“Cicero doubts that, Lord Mora, sir,” Cicero giggled, hiding fear behind laughter as he always did. “Cicero is just a fool! An idiot! There's very little knowledge lurking in Cicero's brain. Cicero thinks you have the wrong man.”

A tentacle lashed out and wrapped itself round Cicero's leg, stopping him crawling away and Cicero began to panic, reaching for his dagger. He didn't know if it would even scratch the slimy appendage, but he had to try.

“Oh, but you're wrong,” Mora growled. “You have something I've been after for centuries. Since your order formed in the Second Era. Something kept secret and safe all this time.” Mora's eyes loomed closer and Cicero realised what he wanted at the same time he spoke.

“The Words, Cicero. Give me the Binding Words. The secrets of the Keeper. None but Keeper and Listener and the Night Mother herself have ever known them, and none of them will ever talk! But you... you might. Won't you share them, Cicero? Tell me the Words?”

“ _Never!_ ” Cicero hissed, all grief receding as the realisation hit home, of just why Mora had let things with Miraak get as far as they did, why he'd helped Ria, why he'd set all this up. He'd wanted the Night Mother's Keeper all along, alone in Apocrypha and at his mercy. But Cicero was loyal, Cicero was faithful, Cicero was the Night Mother's... and Cicero would keep the Tenets if it killed him. “Cicero tells you nothing!”

“I thought you'd be stubborn,” Mora glowered, voice hardening. “But this is Apocrypha, Cicero. You cannot escape me here, and now the secrets of the Dark Brotherhood shall belong to _me!_ ”

Tentacles reached for him and Cicero tried to scrabble away, screaming as more grabbed him and dragged him back. Fear gripped him and his mind broke as he babbled helplessly.

“NO NO NO CICERO TELLS YOU NOTHING, CICERO IS LOYAL, CICERO IS A GOOD BOY, CICERO IS THE NIGHT MOTHER'S, THE NIGHT MOTHER'S, MOTHER MOTHER MOTHER HELP!!!!!”

In Mundus, all his begging and pleading had ever been in vain. Cicero was no Listener. Cicero was no leader. Cicero was a follower only and even the most faithful of them all couldn't put the Brotherhood back together. The Night Mother had needed a Blade for that.

But Oblivion was half in the Void, Sithis's realm all around it... and in the Void, the Night Mother wasn't bound to her corpse.

Black lightning arced across the sky and the green firmament ripped open, the cold of space and terror of midnight pouring through, and as Mora materialised some extra eyes to see just what had ripped his realm open, a female voice echoed across Apocrypha's skies.

“THAT WAS NOT PART OF OUR CONTRACT, MORA!”

Cicero fell still and silent, shock rendering him speechless as he tried to work out what was going on. Surely not...

“Mother?” Cicero whispered faintly. “Is that your voice I hear?”

Mora let Cicero go, all attention turning to the void and indeed, the Void, hovering at the very roof of his world.

“This is my realm, Night Mother!” Mora roared. “You have no business being here – aarrgghh!” 

A bolt of black lightning struck him, sending pain rippling through tentacles and eyes.

“I go where I want in the Void, and your world sits right inside it!” the Night Mother's voice snarled back. “Need I remind you of your sister's fate?”

“You murdering bitch – arrggghhhh!” Mora howled as more lightning hit him. Then a wind of shadow and death descended and began swirling the green-black ooze, and soon a whirlpool had formed.

“Fragile thing, knowledge,” the Night Mother purred. “Depends entirely on someone being alive who knows it. Or for the books it's written in to survive the ages in a tongue someone can read. You've preserved a lot, Mora. So much no one else now knows.” A pause, and then lightning struck one of the towers of books, and slowly but surely, it crumbled into the sea, tomes of knowledge all travelling inexorably to the whirlpool that would suck them into the Void and out of existence. 

“It'd be a terrible thing if something were to... happen to it,” the Night Mother chuckled as another bolt of lightning destroyed a second tower, and Mora actually screamed, crying as his precious books floated to their doom.

“NOOOO!!!” the Daedric Prince of Knowledge screamed. “YOU BITCH! YOU – YOU – ALL RIGHT, I GIVE IN, I'M SORRY, KEEP YOUR SECRETS, I DON'T NEED THEM ANYWAY! TAKE YOUR KEEPER, JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!”

“All right,” the Night Mother said sweetly, the whirlpool slowing and vanishing, leaving only hundreds of books bobbing in the waves. “I'll let you clear up. No more molesting my Keeper though, hmm? He's a delicate and sensitive child, I will not have him bothered.”

“Delicate and sensitive?? Him?” Mora cried. The Night Mother didn't answer but another finger of darkness slowly started edging towards the ooze again, and Mora took the hint.

“Just get the little bastard out of my realm,” Mora growled and dematerialised, presumably to go gather all the books that were now floating everywhere. Given how many had gone to make up those towers, Mora was likely to be some time.

The void in the sky sealed and for a few moments all was quiet, and Cicero had just hauled himself to a sitting position when another void opened before him... and she stepped out of it.

She was a Dunmer woman in a long sleeveless black silk dress with a red lining, clinging to breasts and hips, a black cloak also with a red lining around her shoulders and falling in folds to the ground, and black hair falling about her shoulders. And Cicero had spent twelve years tending to a mummified version of this woman and would know her anywhere.

“Mother,” he whispered, his vision starting to blur as he reached out for her. “Mother, is that – is that you?”

“Yes,” the Night Mother said softly, gliding over on black sandalled feet, holding out her arms to her beautiful boy. “Yes, Cicero, it's me.”

“Mother,” Cicero whispered, holding out his arms and then she was there, holding him tight and smelling of fire and cinnamon and nightshade, but warm, oh so warm, and Cicero snuggled into her arms and began to cry, bawling his eyes out as he wept for everything. For twelve years of silence and loneliness, the death of his Dark Brothers and Sisters, the loss of his home, the loss of his mind, everything. And the Night Mother held him, stroking his hair and whispering that it was all right, everything was going to be all right, and Cicero clung on to her, hearing the voice he'd longed for all this time and he sobbed his heart out.

It must have been hours they'd stayed like that, Night Mother and Keeper, holding each other at the summit of Apocrypha, but finally Cicero dried his eyes and looked up at her.

“Why?” he whispered. “Why did you never...? Was I not worthy? Did I do something wrong?”

Heartbreak in the Night Mother's eyes as she stroked his hair.

“No, my sweet boy, no, you never did anything wrong. You were always the best of them. So loyal. So faithful. So... unflinching. But you aren't a Listener, my son. You were not the one to rebuild the Brotherhood. But you kept me safe until I found the one who could. And I found her because of you.” The Night Mother patted his cheek then, smiling whimsically, kissed the end of his nose and Cicero squeaked, blushing. “Thank you, my son.”

“I'd do anything for you,” Cicero whispered, knowing it was true in that instant. He loved his father, his daughter, his mama, his Listener, his pretty Eola. But of all of them, the Night Mother was the one he couldn't even comprehend disobeying. She'd been his life for so long. And now he was in her arms and nothing else mattered but that she was pleased with him.

“I know you would, my love,” the Night Mother whispered. Silence for a moment then Cicero looked up again, frowning.

“How come I can hear you now?”

“Because you're in the Void,” the Night Mother whispered. “Apocrypha, all the Daedric realms, they all sit in the Void. I can move freely here, talk to who I wish. It's only on Nirn I'm tied. Come on, Cicero, this was in the Tomes.”

“So when I'm dead, I can see you all the time,” Cicero whispered, heart leaping. The Night Mother nodded.

“And you can visit any Daedric realm you want, with impunity because you're mine,” the Night Mother whispered. “Such as the Hunting Grounds. Or the Scuttling Void.”

Hircine and Namira's realms. Cicero's eyes widened.

“I get to see pretty Eola in the afterlife!” Cicero cooed, delighted. “And Aela and Aranea too! But that is marvellous! Cicero had worried, he had!”

“You'll have your family, my sweet,” the Night Mother said, smiling indulgently. “I might even be able to arrange the occasional trip to Sovngarde, although you must take care there. You have the dragon blood, Akatosh has a claim on you now too. I do not think he would keep you against your will, but all the same you would need to be careful.”

“I could see Mama,” Cicero whispered, realising death wouldn't mean the loss of his blood kin. “And... and Ria.”

Hesitation and a faint smile from the Night Mother.

“Yes, sweet boy, you will see your little one again.” She kissed his forehead and stroked his face. “Cicero, sweet Cicero, you must go home. Your friends are worried, and your Listener needs you.”

“Listener,” Cicero breathed, and he realised just how long it had been since he'd seen her. Pretty Delphine with her blonde hair and gorgeous blue eyes and her arms around him and by Sithis, he needed her. “Mother, is she well? Not hurt?”

“No, not hurt,” the Night Mother told him. “But much has happened while you've been gone. You should go. My Unholy Land is... troubled.”

“Unholy Land?” Cicero whispered and then he realised – where else except the place where its people worshipped her as a goddess and had a temple to her? “The Reach is in trouble?”

“Not exactly. Not yet anyway. But my honorary son is in need, my child of Namira is worrying constantly and my Listener is having to do a Speaker's job half the time because her lady friend doesn't like going far from Markarth. You should definitely go back, my son.”

Cicero didn't like the sound of that. Definitely time to return.

“Very well, if you think it best,” he said, climbing to his feet and helping her up. Hesitation as he held her hand, not wanting to let her go. “Mother, I – will I hear your voice again? In this lifetime?”

“No, my son,” she said sadly. “You were not meant to hear it today, but I couldn't risk the Words falling into the wrong hands. But you will not live forever, child. One day you will die, as all things must, and then, sweet Cicero, then you will be with me again.”

It wasn't enough. But it was more than he could ever have dreamed of. Cicero stood on tiptoes and kissed her on the cheek.

“Yes, Mother,” he whispered. “I love you, Mother.”

“I love you too, sweet Cicero,” the Night Mother said tenderly. “Kill well... and often.” With a parting smile of utter cruelty on her lips, she faded away, back to the Void.

Cicero sighed happily and wiped tears from his eyes. He'd seen her – the Night Mother! She loved him. It wasn't for nothing. She'd never abandoned him. Even though she couldn't have spoken, she'd been watching and loving him all that time. Of course she loved him. She'd taken on Mora for him. Saved him from being brutally stabbed by all those horrible tentacles!

Cicero glanced down at Miraak's remains, helping himself to the robes and mask and staff. Not really his thing, but maybe Eola would like them. She'd love a staff of tentacles, Cicero was sure. Or maybe Delphine would. He'd have to think about it. Meanwhile Miraak's skull was coming as well. The Night Mother's Temple would need a new altarpiece. It was poetic justice.

Finally there was the sword. All slimy and tentacle-ey... but impressive. He'd seen it lash out to drain strength and Cicero reckoned he could do a better job at murdering people with it than Miraak. He needed a second sword, a properly shiny one. He couldn't keep borrowing Dawnbreaker.

“I shall call you Calamario!” Cicero giggled. Mmm... calamari. And when he next had the chance, he fully intended to return to Cyrodiil, head for the Imperial City's food market and have the biggest plateful of it he could find. Or better yet, visit Bravil, go to one of those fancy restaurants where they had them in a tank or pool and you could pick one and have it killed in front of you then watch them cook and prepare it for you. Eola would like that, he was sure. He'd once done something similar for her involving a Thalmor Justiciar, a rogue necromancer, someone from one of the Forsworn camps who'd been a very naughty boy and a Skooma dealer, all lovingly collected and shackled up in Reachcliff Cave especially. She'd called him a little sweetheart and gone for the necromancer. It had been a very romantic evening. There'd been flowers and candles and he'd got to try one of his mother's old recipes. It had been delightful.

Definitely time to go home. Cicero realised just how much he missed his sweetlings and his Sanctuary. And Ria... Sithis, Ria. Tears in Cicero's eyes again and another pang of misery as he realised his little girl was gone. But the Night Mother had promised he'd see her again, so he held on tight to the memory of her face and took a deep breath. It would be all right. It had to be. And Ria was Dragonborn and would be safe in Sovngarde with his mama Stelmaria, and if Vilkas lost his mind and killed poor Cicero, he'd be in the Void and then be able to slip out and visit her. All was not lost.

Touching the Black Book, Cicero left Apocrypha for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been waiting to write that for SO DAMN LONG! :D I cried a bit writing that. Like an evil version of Cicero seeing Stelmaria again. Closure for our hero sounded like a very good thing indeed so in it went.
> 
> As for Hermaeus Mora, while it wasn't possible to give him the full Mephala treatment, he's definitely going to be keeping a low profile for a bit, and avoiding the Brotherhood.
> 
> Ria obviously isn't dead, she's just fine, but Cicero doesn't know that.
> 
> Next chapter, it's time to start heading home. I think this fic has up to five chapters or so left in it, maybe. Certainly three. There's Cicero and Delphine's reunion, Kodlak finding out about Ria, the winding up of Ria's subplot, then all back to the Reach where there's been developments. Exciting developments. I think the block may, touch wood, be over. We'll see, eh?


	22. Homebound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Miraak dead, it's time to go home, but while Cicero's glad to be back, he can't deny he's changed. Ria meanwhile is having difficulty adjusting to being a new Dragonborn now she's back home... so it's a good thing Cicero knows a few people who specialise in aiding new Dragonborns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are getting VERY CLOSE to the end now! There is this chapter, another, and then one, maybe two more, and then we're done. It's sad but also VERY EXCITING!
> 
> This is very much the bridging chapter, getting Cicero off Solstheim and back home where he belongs.

The Skaal village hall was quiet, the fire burning down, Hjordis dozing on a fur pelt alongside Aela, who had an arm draped round her.

Cicero lowered the Black Book, shaking all over and blinking, wondering if that had all really happened. Hermaeus Mora. The Night Mother. Miraak. Ria.

But he had his dagger back, his precious ebony dagger, his old friend from years ago. And the robes and the staff and Miraak's skull. Which meant it was real, Miraak was really dead... and Ria. Gods, Ria.

“Sister?” Cicero whispered, staring at his Shield-Sister. “Sister, I killed him.”

Aela's eyes widened at the skull on his lap, but she didn't look like she disapproved.

“Well done, brother,” Aela said, impressed. She nudged Hjordis awake. “Look, he's back.”

“Oh. Good,” Hjordis sighed. Then she saw the skull and sat up, wide awake. “What in the name of Hircine is _that?_ ”

“Miraak,” Cicero purred, stroking its cranium. “Or at least, it was. Now it's going to be the Temple of Sithis's new altarpiece.”

“Best not to ask,” Aela told Hjordis. “Hey, you two. Put each other down and get over here. He's back.”

Put... each other... down? But it was only Vilkas here, Ria was gone. Slowly, Cicero turned around, feeling tears choking him again.

Over in a dark corner, two figures were cuddling up together, the fire glinting off their armour, both dark-haired, but one had a Nord's bright blue eyes and hulking shoulders, and the other...

Vilkas hastily let Ria go, coughed nervously and sat back, and Ria scrambled forward, hair mussed and face flushed from all the kissing.

“Cicero! You're back!” Ria cried. 

Cicero didn't answer. He couldn't. If he opened his mouth right now, he'd cry, he could already feel tears on his face, he'd be bawling his eyes out all over her.

And then she'd crossed the distance between them, wiping the tears away and staring guiltily at him and Cicero was sniffling anyway, whispering her name and then he was clinging on to her, crying his eyes out as he realised she was all right. Not dead. Not drowned at all. Alive and well and here and hugging him and asking if he was OK and...

“You're alive,” Cicero gasped. “You're alive! Sweet Ria isn't dead! But Cicero saw you...” He couldn't say any more at that point. He was too choked up to speak and Ria's arms were round him as she held him tight.

“You didn't know it wasn't real,” Ria breathed. “You thought I'd... oh _Cicero._ ”

There followed a few moments of silence, as Cicero sobbed in Ria's arms, quiet incoherent wailing the only sound in the small wooden hall. Then Vilkas had moved closer, arms round Ria and Cicero, and then Aela was on their other side doing likewise and even Hjordis was patting Cicero's back.

“Cicero loves you,” Cicero sniffled on Ria's shoulder. “Cicero does! Cicero knows he's broken and wrong and not a good man, not a good man at all... but he loves you, sweet Ria.”

“I know,” Ria whispered back. “I love you too, Cicero... father.”

Cicero didn't answer, fingers tightening their grip on Ria as he sobbed harder. It was some time before anyone was really ready to move, but at length, Cicero dried his eyes and sat up, still tearful but smiling, beaming through his tears.

“It's over,” Cicero whispered. “It's over! We did it!”

Ria nodded, feeling a bit tearful herself. They'd won and Solstheim – the world – was safe.

“You did it,” Aela whispered. “You've brought honour on us all.”

“Kodlak will be pleased indeed to hear this,” Vilkas added, planting a kiss on Ria's cheek and Ria shivered a little. That was an unexpected development indeed, having woken up in a heap on the floor of the hall, with Cicero still locked into the book and preventing her from rejoining him, but Vilkas there, holding her, desperately worried and thanking gods she knew perfectly well he didn't believe in that she was all right. She'd asked what about Cicero, and he'd snapped never mind Cicero, he wasn't in love with Cicero was he? Then he'd gone scarlet and turned to leave, mortified... and Ria had had to grab him quick.

There'd been a conversation in a quiet corner away from Aela's smirking where Ria had asked exactly how long that had been going on for and Vilkas admitting he wasn't sure, but he'd never liked the idea of her endangering herself and just lately she'd been doing that far more often than usual and it had been driving him to distraction and... Ria had had no idea what to make of it but it did explain an awful lot. And by the Eight, it had been a while since anyone had shown an interest, and Vilkas was a rather handsome man when all was said and done. So she'd leaned forward and moved closer, intending to tell him that was very sweet and she'd have to think about it and maybe they could go out for dinner some time, but somehow she'd ended up kissing him instead. Vilkas had turned out to be good at it. Very very good at it, and they'd ended up in a heap in a darkened corner, neither feeling quite up to stripping any armour off, especially not with Aela and Hjordis on the other side of the room with their sensitive werewolf hearing, but definitely cuddling and definitely exchanging fierce kisses and definitely promising each other that when they got back to Jorrvaskr, they were both going to slip into something more comfortable and meet up in his room for a nice romantic dinner and then have a very long and detailed conversation about where this was going.

Or at least they were intending to... until it occurred to Ria that she had a father now, a father prone to violence and stabbing and known for being very protective of what was his, and with no warning whatsoever, he'd seen Vilkas nuzzle her in front of him.

Slowly, Ria turned around to see Cicero watching them both, those perceptive eyes missing nothing and his grin looking horribly horribly fixed.

“Is Cicero given to understand that there is an... agreement between sweet Ria and dear Vilkas?” Cicero cooed.

“I – yeah,” Ria admitted. “Sort of. I mean, I only just found out he liked me, it's not like we've worked out where it's going yet...”

Cicero said nothing, eyes flicking to Vilkas who, to give him credit, barely flinched.

“I'm in love with Ria,” Vilkas said calmly. “I've spent a year in denial, being a bigger fool than you, but I finally realised and it seems she's not displeased. So Cicero, seeing as she's a grown woman and you've been her father all of five minutes...”

Cicero said nothing, staring at Vilkas still with that fixed grin, before throwing back his head and cackling, cackling long and hard and slapping his thigh, before abruptly stopping and sitting back up again, cooing.

“Of course, of course!” Cicero giggled. “Cicero has no objections! Ria is a grown woman who can take whoever she likes into her bed. And Cicero likes Vilkas! Vilkas is a good man, a kind man, an honourable man who would never hurt pretty Ria or betray her or ill-treat her or break her heart... _would he?_ ” Cicero's voice dropped a whole octave as he slid forward in one fluid movement, nose almost touching Vilkas's, smile fading and eyes narrowing.

Vilkas didn't even flinch, in fact he actually smiled a little.

“No, Cicero, I never would,” Vilkas promised. “I'll take care of her, I promise.” Then a sigh and rolled eyes. “I suppose this means I'm going to have to help her take care of you as well, hmm?”

Hesitation in Cicero's eyes, surprise... and the merest flicker of hope. He glanced at Ria, who was smiling at him, and then nodded his head.

“Aye, thought so,” Vilkas sighed wearily. “Come on then, troublemaker. Suppose we'd better get you home.”

Cicero squealed and hugged Vilkas, then Ria again, then Aela and then Hjordis, who was left looking a bit traumatised by the whole experience, and then it was time to go home.

~~~~~~~~~ 

Frea was waiting for them, her father's remains off being prepared for burial by this time. But the blood was still visible on the snow, blood and black ichor that were a grim reminder of the sacrifice the Skaal had had to make. 

“Is it done?” she asked, and Ria nodded, not sure what to say to her. Didn't feel right to be cuddling her own grinning idiot of a father when Frea would never have hers again.

“Good,” Frea breathed, seeming relieved. “Thank you. The land feels freer... cleaner. And we had the last of our people just arrive from the Tree Stone. The power's broken there, and everyone's free. The cultists went a bit mad from grief, but the reavers and Rieklings that had got trapped there soon dealt with the remaining ones. I don't think we need to worry about them. Miraak's really gone?”

“Oh yes!” Cicero giggled, proudly brandishing the skull. “Cicero brought a little trophy back, look!”

“I... believe you,” Frea said nervously, taking a step back away from the little madman. 

“Come on, Cicero,” said Aela, steering him away. “I think Ria and Frea want to talk in private, and then we need to get you back to Raven Rock, don't we?”

“Yes, Shield-Sister!” Cicero cooed, quite happy to be led off, still clutching Miraak's skull under his arm. Vilkas patted Ria on the shoulder and followed, leaving Ria with the new Skaal shaman.

“Are you all right?” Ria said quietly. “I know you're grieving your father. I'm so sorry.”

Frea just shrugged. “I am not all right, Ria, no, but life here is hard and short and always has been. Storn chose his own path in the end, but he also taught me all paths lead back to the All-Maker in the end. One day my own path will lead there, and then I will see my parents again.” Frea looked up then, sharp penetrating gaze seeming to see right into Ria's soul. “And you, Ria? Are you all right? You went right into Herma-Mora's realm and back. Few do that and return unscathed.”

“I'm all right,” Ria said. “I think. I'm not going back there though. Anything else Mora-related comes up, the world can find another hero. I'm done with Daedra. Especially that one.”

“Good,” Frea said, finally relaxing. “Maybe you had to make a deal with Mora to kill Miraak, but don't go any further down that road. You are better than that. Mora already claimed my father. Let's not let his sacrifice be in vain, no?”

“No,” Ria promised, giving Frea a hug. She couldn't bring Storn back and she was sure seeing him die would haunt her nightmares for good. But she could live a life he'd be proud of having died for.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The journey back to Raven Rock wasn't a long one. An hour or so later, and the Dunmer village lay before them. Hjordis seemed a little nervous, but Aela squeezed her hand and told her it would be all right. And it was... until they reached the market to find Adril Arano with Captain Veleth and several guardsmen at his back facing off with Aranea, apparently feeling better or sufficiently well to be out of bed anyway. She had Sapphire, the Ienths, Glover Mallory and Calixto at her back, and a good many of the townsfolk had all turned out to see this one.

“I tell you, Councillor, I don't know what happened to that Mogrul fellow,” Aranea sniffed. “Or his bodyguard.”

“You have no idea who'd be skilled enough to creep into the Netch without the guards seeing them and slit both their throats on the top floor while everyone else was having a drink in the bar below,” Adril said, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” said Aranea tersely. “And I don't care for the implication that I might. I'm a priestess of Azura, not some sort of assassin-master!”

“No, no, of course not,” Adril soothed her. “I was just wondering if you'd seen any visions from Azura on the matter. It's not often we get a double-murder in this town, and what with the Severins vanishing and all that business with the Stones, you can hardly blame us for being jumpy.”

“Perhaps the Severins had something to do with it,” Glover remarked casually. “You're not going to tell me it's a coincidence they ran off like that. Just disappearing into the night like that.”

“No, probably not,” Adril sighed. “Especially after that note we found in their safe, and what we discovered at Ashfallow. I honestly think we may have all had a lucky escape.” He glanced up to see Cicero and Companions returning and actually smiled. “And there's the rest of your little group. Good, glad you're all here. I've heard lots about you while you've been in town.”

“Have you?” Ria said nervously. Her exploits had all at least been perfectly legal if a little unbelievable, but she knew damn well Cicero's hadn't. Especially if that moneylender had been mysteriously killed, and that particular murder had Dark Brotherhood written all over it. 

“Oh yes,” Adril nodded. “First getting the mines re-opened, then that business with the Earth Stone, then restoring our Temple, then you two sorting out the ash spawn invasion, and then it turns out there was a Morag Tong plot against Councillor Morvayn, and Muthsera Ienith here tells me they took her captive too and she owes her life to a timely rescue involving you, Sera Cicero.”

Cicero blushed and giggled and admitted he'd tracked her to Ashfallow Citadel and rescued her from the horrible Morag Tong but it was nothing, it really was, he'd do it for any friend in trouble.

“Indeed,” Adril said smoothly. “Then we'd better make sure you remain a friend of Raven Rock. Councillor Morvayn has authorised this payment of a thousand septims each for your much appreciated assistance in restoring Raven Rock's fortunes, and he has also asked me to let you know that Severin Manor is now available for the use of any of the seven of you when you next visit. Here, have a key each.”

“I don't know what to say,” Aranea whispered as she accepted keys and coin on everyone's behalf. “Thank you, muthsera!”

“Oh, don't thank me, the honour's all ours,” Adril replied, bowing to her. “I hope to see at least some of you visiting from time to time?”

“Count on it,” Sapphire said, an arm round Glover, and Milore was likewise hugging her sister.

“You come and visit more often, you hear?” Milore told her. “And I'll see about getting Nilara to get that writ lifted too.”

Aranea exchanged glances with Calixto and Sapphire in a way that promised Nilara would indeed be getting the writ lifted if she wanted to remain a wealthy Ienth of Mournhold, or a living one at any rate, and promised Milore she'd be back.

They stayed that night in Raven Rock, drinking and celebrating and saying their goodbyes and telling their stories, or edited versions anyway, and in the morning, four assassins and four Companions boarded the boat back to Windhelm.

“You know, I think I'm actually going to miss this place,” Ria said thoughtfully. “It's wild, you know? Untamed. I like that.”

“I won't,” Vilkas said, coughing on the ash. “Can't even breathe here. I'll be glad to see Whiterun again.”

“So will I,” Aela said quietly, staring at the basalt cliffs overlooking Raven Rock.

“I'll be glad to get away,” Calixto said, seeming relieved about something. Aranea grinned and patted his hand.

“Did your researches with Neloth not go well?” she grinned. Calixto shook his head.

“No. He wants to know how the Forsworn get their Briar Hearts to work. Seems to think I can just waltz into a camp, kill one and examine how the Heart's implanted.”

“Well, we could in theory get away with killing one, but... Calixto, did you tell him the Reach is independent now? That the Forsworn run it and those are state secrets he's after?”

“Of course, and he didn't seem to care!” Calixto sighed, frustrated. “Said weren't we the type to not care about authority and wasn't operating outside the law our reason for being?”

“Yeah, but there's limits!” Sapphire said, appalled. “It's like the Guild, you know? We don't rob our patrons!”

“Exactly, and I told him that, and he was most put out,” Calixto sighed, rubbing his head. “Aranea, I have a horrible feeling we've not heard the last of him.”

“Well, he can't hire us, we're not Reach-based,” Aranea said, seeming just a bit too confident that Neloth wasn't going to cause any trouble. “If he wants a formal contract, it'll be Delphine's problem. She can try and broker a deal between Neloth and Madanach and leave us out of it.”

“Good luck with that,” Sapphire murmured, lying back on the deck, not envying that prospect. The unstoppable versus the unreasonable, and she wasn't even sure which was which.

Then the time came to cast off, once Cicero had been cajoled into the boat by Ria and Vilkas, and Aela had done likewise with Hjordis, who'd never been on a boat in her life and looked terrified. But once it was under way, Hjordis seemed to rally and quite enjoy the sea breeze.

Cicero and Ria of course ended up slumped over the guard rail, hating every second, but this time Vilkas patted them both on the back, let them both cuddle him and did enough fussing to keep them both from feeling too sorry for themselves on the way back.

And so the Northern Maiden turned south and west and headed for Windhelm, and it was time for the Dragons of the North to go home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A night in Windhelm and then the carriage home the next day, seen off by the three Windhelm assassins. Hjordis took one look at the stables and almost ran. The poor woman hadn't been at ease since getting off the boat. Too many people, too many buildings, and now these horse things?

“We don't need to get the carriage, we can walk if you'd prefer,” Aela said gently. Hjordis nodded nervously, and that was two more of them on the road.

And then it was Vilkas, Ria and Cicero riding for home in the back of the carriage, all glad to be breathing air that didn't taste of ash.

By late afternoon, Whiterun loomed ahead of them, and by sunset, all three were bundling into Jorrvaskr.

“VILKAS!” Farkas almost bowled Vilkas over as he pounced on his twin, hugging him for all he was worth.

“Farkas,” Vilkas laughed, returning the embrace, and while Vilkas didn't always show a lot of affection for his twin, that didn't mean it wasn't there. Ria was next to be welcomed and then Farkas was sweeping Cicero into a bear hug.

“Welcome back, little man,” Farkas said gruffly. “Been too quiet without you.”

Cicero squealed and squeezed back, groping Farkas's backside in the process, and while Cicero and Farkas had never shared a bed, Farkas out of all Jorrvaskr's men didn't seem to mind Cicero fondling him. 

“Harbinger's waiting for you all,” Farkas told them, waving them in the direction of the living quarters. “You should go talk to him. Tell him what happened. You killed him, right?”

“Oh yes,” Cicero giggled, holding up the Skull of Miraak. “He's very dead.”

“Hah! Knew you'd see to him,” Farkas laughed. Then he did a quick count and frowned. “Hey. Where's Aela? She's not...”

“No, no,” Vilkas reassured him. “She's fine. She just decided to take the scenic route back.”

Relieved, Farkas stood back, made Vilkas promise to tell the story later, and sent them all off to see Kodlak. He turned out to be sitting outside his office... with a visitor. Their conversation was audible down the corridor.

“Anyway, thank you for your hospitality,” Delphine's voice echoed down the tunnel. “There's not a lot of places in Tamriel I can really relax and be open about what I am these days.”

“What, a murderer?” Kodlak growled. “Let's be truthful here, the only reason I let you in the door is because you married my son.”

“Listener?” Cicero whispered, picking up speed, desperation and hope in his eyes.

“No, a Talos-worshipper,” Delphine said, sounding rather offended, and there was an awkward pause there. Then Kodlak speaking again.

“Ah. Well, I do admit, we're not ones to sell anyone out to the Thalmor, if you know what I mean. I keep forgetting you were a Blade before.”

“Keep forgetting,” Delphine laughed. “Makes it so much easier if questions are asked – wait, who's... _Cicero?_ ”

“Listener!” Cicero cried, by now sprinting down the corridor. “Listener, Listener, Cicero missed you!”

Delphine got up, open-mouthed as she opened her arms out to him, and then Cicero was there, held in his Listener's embrace, clinging on to the woman he'd married and still treasured more than anything.

“Listener,” Cicero whispered, feeling the tears starting to come again. “My Listener. Sweet Delphine. Cicero's home.”

“Yes,” Delphine whispered. “Yes you are. Welcome back.” She kissed his cheek and stood back to look at him properly. “And still in one piece, and Vilkas and Ria here too, and I presume this means you did it?”

Cicero triumphantly held out Miraak's skull for inspection, giggling as he did. “Mother has a new altarpiece, look!”

Delphine stared at it, before grinning and nodding, life with Cicero having prepared her for anything by this point. “Yes, yes she has. Well done, Cicero. I knew you'd do it.” She took the skull off him, placing it on the table next to Kodlak. “Hope you're proud of your boy, Kodlak. I know I am.”

“Dear Mother of Talos, may I take it that's all that's left of Miraak?” Kodlak said faintly. Cicero nodded, going a little bit pink but still looking rather pleased with himself. Kodlak stared at the skull, then back at his son, then to everyone's surprise, he broke out into a laugh.

“Well done, lad! Talos, but this'll be a story to tell. The tale of two Dragonborns, and the stronger one won! Jorrvaskr won't have heard anything like it in years! Come here, son.”

Cicero squeaked and ran into his father's arms, and while Cicero knew he'd certainly have to edit the story a bit before he told it, he'd been a Companion long enough now to know that they were all fine with blood and viscera, as long as it was _honourable_ blood and viscera.

Then Cicero recalled one detail in particular he really ought to tell his father, and indeed his wife, sooner rather than later. Coughing sheepishly, he disentangled himself and hopped back over to where Ria was waiting nervously and led her forward.

“Er... Delphine, my sweetling, this is Ria,” Cicero said, presenting her to Delphine.

“I know, I've met her,” Delphine said, surprised. “What are you so nervous about, Cicero – no. Please, no. Don't tell me you slept with her.”

Ria actually cried out, appalled, and Cicero felt his face turn red even as Kodlak actually started growling.

“NO, NO, CICERO NEVER DID!” Cicero cried. “CICERO BEHAVED! CICERO HAS LOOKED AFTER AND PROTECTED RIA, HE HAS, HE HAS!”

“Ria's mother, on the other hand, is a different story,” Vilkas put in, grinning. “Apparently she and Cicero had a little affair twenty two years ago and, well, Ria's the result.”

Silence as Delphine and Kodlak stared at Ria and then Delphine actually smiled.

“You know, I can see it now. You've got his eyes. But how did you find that out? Did it just come up in conversation or...?”

“Killed a dragon. Took its soul,” Ria admitted. “We kind of worked it out after that.”

“You're Dragonborn,” Delphine gasped. “Talos!” She turned to Kodlak, delight all over her face that made her look years younger. “She's Dragonborn, Kodlak! We've got another Dragonborn!”

“Dragonborn...” Kodlak whispered, staring at Ria, seeing now what he should have seen all along and perhaps realising that it was a faint echo of Stelmaria that had led him to admit her in the first place. And while he was certainly proud to have a Dragonborn in Jorrvaskr – another one – that wasn't what was bringing tears of joy to his eyes. “And my granddaughter.”

Ria nodded, wiping a tear away from her eye and then Kodlak was getting to his feet and clutching her to him, too choked up to speak. It wasn't every day the Harbinger of Jorrvaskr cried, but today it happened.

Wasn't often the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood cried either but even she was looking a bit misty-eyed as she took her seat and pulled Cicero into her lap. Leaving just Vilkas watching a little awkwardly from the sidelines. Until Cicero noticed and decided to involve him as well.

“Vilkas is part of the family too!” Cicero chirped gleefully. “Vilkas and Ria spent a lot of time together on Solstheim, and now they have an... arrangement.”

“Congratulations,” Delphine said with a grin. Kodlak on the other hand let Ria go, straightened up and gave Vilkas the full thousand-yard stare. It was a funny thing, Cicero's particular brand of psychotic lunacy hadn't even had Vilkas flinching, but the stony stare from Kodlak had Vilkas shrinking back. 

“I trust you'll treat my granddaughter well, and as honourably as I'd expect from a Companion of Jorrvaskr,” Kodlak said stiffly.

“Oh don't worry, dearest Papa, Cicero has already had the conversation about wishing to avoid having to brutally stab dear Vilkas,” Cicero cackled. Kodlak grinned at his son, before turning back to Vilkas.

“Good. I'd hate to have to chase a Shield-Brother down with a battleaxe. Always awkward, that.” Then he held his hand out to Vilkas. “About time, lad. Thought you'd never say anything.”

“You knew?” Ria and Vilkas both cried out together, as Kodlak put his arm round Vilkas too.

“Knew? Entire bloody mead hall knew,” Kodlak laughed. “We were just waiting for the pair of you to work it out.” He patted them both on the shoulder. “Come on, let's go and tell the others. You two joining us? There'll be mead and food for you both if you want. And I'll be wanting to hear my son's exploits. If they're suitable for company, of course.”

“Doubtful,” Delphine said, squeezing Cicero's thigh. “How much do I owe in the way of bounties, exactly?”

Cicero pouted and protested he'd not had any bounties, he'd been a good boy, in fact the nice Second Councillor had given him money! And a house, to be shared with the others. Disbelief all round, but when he produced the key and a large amount of gold for his Listener to look after, Delphine at least was impressed. And so the Dragonborns and their kin went upstairs to share mead and stories, and the law-abiding half of Cicero's family gathered to welcome him home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Much later, and Cicero was making his way downstairs, cuddling Delphine as he had been all evening, perching on her lap and clinging on to her, cooing and sighing as he'd relaxed in her arms.

Except it had been strange being with her in Jorrvaskr, outside the Night Mother's influence, and while Jorrvaskr was a home of sorts where he could be sure of company and affection, just as Markarth was a home of sorts where the regulars at the Hag's Rest were usually pleased to see him, and the Reach-King was known to put up with Cicero paying him visits from time to time while he was in the city, it still wasn't truly where he belonged.

But Karthspire was his true home, and while sitting on her lap and cuddling her was all very well, it wasn't what he really wanted.

“Are you all right? I mean, really?” Delphine whispered, brushing his hair as she led him to the room that had once been Skjor's and still went unfilled.

Cicero clung on tighter, visions of tentacles and Miraak and being made to go down on him in his mind. No, not really.

“Cicero is sorry, Listener,” Cicero whispered. “Cicero was bad. Cicero nearly failed the entire contract.”

Delphine tightened her grip and didn't answer, just steering him into the room and closing the door behind him.

“Kneel,” was all she said, before sitting on the bed expectantly. Cicero knelt down, removing his hat and quietly placing it to one side, then shuffling over as she beckoned him to curl up at her feet.

“What did you do?” she said quietly. There was no mistaking the gentle but firm tone. So Cicero talked, haltingly at first but then babbling everything, not able to stop, telling her what he couldn't admit to anyone else. That he'd loved and hated and wanted Miraak, that he'd had another Dragonborn, that he'd finally not been alone in the world... and then there'd been the tentacle sex and more importantly, the promise that Cicero could be loved and petted in return if he just gave in. And Cicero had wanted to. 

If it hadn't been for Ria, the entire thing would have fallen apart. Another Dragonborn, and this one his kin, his living, younger kin to take care of and protect, and she was worrying about him... and talking of going to face Miraak alone. Cicero would die rather than let Miraak hurt her... and so he'd rallied. But even so, she had learnt what he could not, been braver than him.

“So Cicero doesn't deserve the praise, my sweetling,” Cicero whispered. “Ria did not learn Bend Will instead of Cicero because Cicero could not be trusted with it, she learnt it because he was afraid to. Cicero could not have done it alone. Cicero craved Miraak. Cicero might have surrendered and gone over to him! But Cicero didn't because of Ria. Cicero is bad, Listener. Cicero is unworthy. Cicero... Cicero doesn't deserve you.”

Delphine hadn't moved throughout all this, just kept on stroking Cicero's hair... except it occurred to Cicero that right now she was gripping it tighter than she needed to. Oh Sithis, she was angry. Very very angry indeed.

“When Miraak used you,” Delphine said softly, although Cicero had a feeling that wasn't the verb she'd initially wanted to use, “did he give you a choice in the matter?”

“Listener?” Cicero whispered.

“Did he give you a safe-word?” Delphine demanded, and Cicero shook his head, confused.

“But Cicero was aroused, Listener, Cicero wanted it...” Cicero whispered.

“Did you?” Delphine asked again. “Did you really want him? More than your loyalty to the Night Mother and me?”

Cicero shook his head vigorously. Of course not. He'd not intended to stray! 

“But Cicero did not say no,” Cicero whispered. Delphine's grip tightened and she leaned down to rest her cheek on his head.

“If you had, do you think he'd have let you go?” Delphine said quietly, and Cicero went still, saying nothing as the answer dawned on him. He clung on to Delphine, hand resting on her thigh as the tears ran down his cheeks, and then Delphine was whispering his name, arms around him as he cried in her arms.

“It's all right,” Delphine whispered. “I've got you, I'm here. I'm here, you're safe, you're home now. You're home.”

“Listener,” Cicero sobbed. “I'm sorry, Listener. I'm yours, yours and Mother's! But Cicero strayed. Cicero was tempted. Cicero is sorry, Delphine!”

“Sweetie,” Delphine whispered, and Cicero realised to his horror she was crying too, and that was worse, he hadn't wanted to hurt her or make her cry! He'd rather have the anger. “It's alright. You didn't do anything wrong!”

“Cicero hurt you!” Cicero whispered, appalled. “Of course he has! Oh Listener, do not cry, not over me, please! Be angry with me, punish me, do as you will but do not cry!”

“I'll cry over you if I damn well want to, you're my husband!” Delphine snapped, still snuggling him. Then she kissed him again, holding him close. “Sweetie. If you want me to do it, I'll punish you. If it's what you need, I'll hurt you. But Cicero, you did not stray. He tried to take you from me. And you killed him in the end, without Ria needing to strike the blow. You saw it through. You're still my Keeper. And I still love you. Very very much.”

Cicero lost his composure completely, howling in Delphine's arms, not resisting as she pulled him on to the bed, curling up behind him, holding him until he subsided.

“Listener,” Cicero whispered. “Will you? Punish me?”

“When we get back and I've got an entire play room at my disposal,” Delphine promised. “But if you wanted attention tonight, I'm all right with that too.”

Not attention so much as being reminded where he belonged – who he belonged to.

“Reclaim me then,” Cicero gasped, writhing up against her. “Please.”

“Got any oil?” Delphine whispered. Cicero nodded, little keening noise escaping his throat. 

“Then get your clothes off, get that horker tusk from over there and get back in bed,” Delphine told him. “You're mine, Keeper.”

Cicero squeaked and promptly complied. Handing over everything, Cicero squirmed as Delphine climbed on top of him, shedding her own armour first and then skin touched skin and Cicero sighed happily as Delphine kissed him. 

Cicero still wasn't all right, not by a long shot. But he was back with his Listener, owned, claimed, used, possessed, wanted... loved. 

Dragonborn he might be, but above all other ties, all other bindings, he was the Night Mother's... and her true Listener's. Cicero needed nothing more.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Is this it?” Ria whispered. Nearly a week since arriving back at Windhelm, and after the celebrations at Jorrvaskr died down, Ria had had a quiet conversation with Cicero. Namely about the sole Shout she knew and he did not.

“This is it, moni,” Cicero said, taking Ria's hand as they both stared up at High Hrothgar. Ria had been worried that the power to control minds might be too much for her, that she might be tempted to misuse it and turn into another Miraak. Cicero had already assured her he didn't think that would ever happen but Ria had still worried – after all, Miraak sounded like he'd been a loyal Dragon Priest before Saering died.

So here they were at High Hrothgar, to introduce Ria to the Greybeards.

The monastery itself was as cold and silent as Cicero remembered it, and the Greybeards still not terribly talkative, but Einarth did head off to find Arngeir.

“They really don't talk, do they?” Ria said, staring at Wulfgar, who was desperately trying to meditate on the glory of Kyne but finding it very difficult with Cicero there. Cicero had a way of disrupting the tranquillity of anywhere just by being there.

“No, no, they do not, their Voices are too strong, moni,” Cicero said, patting the arm he'd linked with his. “It could kill an ordinary person.”

“But not us,” Ria said, looking a little shaken at the thought of being stronger than a Greybeard.

“Not us, no,” Cicero purred, and then the dark and dangerous side of him was gone as Arngeir appeared.

“Dragonborn,” Arngeir said, surprised – and was it Ria's imagination, or did the Greybeard look a little... pained? “Welcome back. It has been some time.”

“Cicero has been away, dear Arngeir!” Cicero cooed. “Cicero was in Solstheim. There was a little problem with another Dragonborn who tried to have poor harmless Cicero killed, but do not fear, sweet Arngeir. Cicero has dealt with the problem!”

“I imagine you have,” Arngeir said dryly. “Did you come here to tell me all the gory details or was there some other reason? If you are after a Word of Power, I do know the location of one.”

“Cicero cannot right now,” Cicero said, wringing his hands and doing his best to look apologetic even though he was actually quite pleased about temporarily being relieved of adventuring duties. “Cicero must stay at home and tend to his lovely wife after having been away so long. But Ria can go! Ria, Ria, this is Master Arngeir, the Greybeard who can speak. Arngeir, this is pretty Ria. She is... she is my little girl. My dear sweet child.”

Cicero had gone a little pink on admitting this, but was looking very proud of Ria, fawning and fussing over her as he was quite frequently wont to do, beaming to the world as if to say 'I did this! Me!'

Arngeir looked at Ria, eyes wide, looking her up and down, only frowning a little at the Blades gear, before bowing to her.

“Welcome. I did not know Cicero had any children. You seem very... well-adjusted.”

_Not a blithering idiot like your father,_ was the intent behind that one. Ria just smiled and returned the bow.

“I try, sir. And well, we didn't know we were related until recently. He's told us about you, a little, but not much.”

“Indeed,” Arngeir said, nodding. “But there must be a reason Cicero brought you here. Even being his kin would not merit a trip all the way here. Can it be... do you also have the dragon blood?”

Ria nodded and Cicero actually bounced with excitement.

“Yes!” Cicero cooed. “Yes, yes she does, she does! Cicero has been training her. She's very talented.”

“By Kynareth,” Arngeir gasped, exchanging glances with his brothers. “Two of you! This is unheard of. Well, the gods have their reasons, I suppose. Now then, Ria. I imagine you have seen Cicero use Shouts, and that you're aware they are Words of Power given reality through the power of the Voice, and that a slain dragon's soul will allow you to learn one.”

“Oh yes,” Ria said. “Cicero told me all that. I've been learning lots of them.”

“I'm sure he did,” Arngeir said. “Now, let us see for ourselves. Show us the power of your Voice.”

Ria looked at Cicero, who nudged her expectantly. “Pick a Shout, any Shout! It matters not which one. They are all trained to withstand it.”

Ria elected to pick a non-violent one anyway. “MUL QAH DIIV!”

Dragon Aspect flared and Ria waited patiently for the response. She was not disappointed.

“Where did you learn that?” Arngeir gasped. “The Shout to wear a dragon's power – that is a rare gift indeed. We did not even know the words of power for that one! A Dragonborn of old is said to have invented it, but the secret died with him. Or so they say.”

Cicero smirked, and Ria decided not to explain that while the Dragonborn in question was indeed quite dead, this was a very recent development indeed.

“We found the Word Walls for it on Solstheim,” Ria explained, deciding to also leave out the part where one of them was in Apocrypha.

“Indeed,” Arngeir said, pondering. “You have learnt much. Come, let us see this for ourselves. Now then, Master Borri will teach you a Thu'um. FUS, the first word of Unrelenting -”

“Force, yes, I know that one,” Ria said cheerfully. “Did you want to see me demonstrate that as well? I know all the words.”

Steely eyes turned on Cicero who was cooing and giggling to himself.

“Someone has been passing on his knowledge, I see,” Arngeir said sternly. “Very well, we'll try another. Whirlwind Sprint?”

Ria knew that one. And Become Ethereal. And Clear Skies. And Disarm and Dismay and several more, until Arngeir threw up his hands and rounded on Cicero.

“Is there a single Shout you know that you haven't taught her?” Arngeir demanded. Cicero giggled, blushing.

“No!” he admitted, not looking sorry at all. “Oh but Arngeir, Solstheim was very dangerous! We had to fight an evil Dragonborn called Miraak who was very strong and very powerful! Cicero couldn't have his sweet Ria go into battle unprepared!”

“Cicero, the whole point of learning the Thu'um is that the Dragonborn is supposed to learn it gradually by earning and building up their knowledge as they go, not having it delivered to them on a plate!” Arngeir cried, about ready to tear his hair out. But Cicero pouted and sidled up to Ria, arms around her waist and staring at Arngeir with huge brown eyes that were deceptively childlike. Arngeir gave in, knowing when he was beaten.

“Fine, fine, but any future Words of Power will need to be earned. Or at least have it be a mutual education. For example, there's a ruin on the mountain just south-east of Riften, called Forelhost. I believe there's a Word of Power there. You should investigate. I've also heard there's a dragon lairing nearby at Lost Tongue Overlook, I wouldn't be surprised if there's a Wall there too.”

“I'll be sure to check them out,” Ria promised. “Sir, I was hoping to learn about-”

“Ria is worried she might misuse her power,” Cicero interrupted. “So Cicero is going to help her meditate on the Thu'um so that she does not use abuse her ability to mind control people by Shouting at Vilkas when he is being annoying. Even if it would be very funny. It is Not Allowed.”

Cicero looked very mournful, wringing his hands at the idea of not being allowed to torment Vilkas, and frankly Ria was very glad indeed he'd never learnt anything more than the first word of Bend Will. Eight only knew what he'd do with the full Shout.

“Mind control?” Arngeir whispered, looking pale and a bit faint. “Kyne help me, Cicero, have you learnt how to use the Thu'um to control minds?”

Again a mournful shake of the head. “No. Not me. Not poor Cicero. Cicero was not there. Cicero did not learn the Words. So Cicero cannot. But Ria can! And Ria is worried she might abuse it, so Cicero is introducing her to Paarthurnax and he can teach her how to meditate on the Thu'um and not be evil.”

Relief that Cicero didn't know how to control minds vanished as Arngeir realised what Cicero had just said.

“You told her about Paarthurnax??” Arngeir cried.

“Yes,” Cicero said cheerfully. “And now we're going to see him. Come along, moni!”

“Cicero, you can't just take her to see Paarthurnax! She's not ready!” Arngeir cried, advancing ever closer to a complete breakdown.

“Cicero, we really don't have to,” Ria began but Cicero brushed her concerns off.

“Nonsense, of course we do, Paarthurnax knows all about keeping evil in check, he is the perfect person to advise. Whereas Cicero knows nothing about keeping impulses under control. Cicero is sure Arngeir wouldn't want Ria to be taught solely by humble Cicero, would he now.” Cicero's voice dropped into a low purr, the smirk on his face giving the lie to the apparent foolishness, and as Arngeir shuddered and waved them both on through, Ria realised that her father was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for... and a lot saner.

Up the mountain they went, Cicero letting Ria clear the way, assisting when the ice wraiths showed up but otherwise taking a back seat and letting Ria explore. Then finally the top of the mountain and the blank Word Wall.

“Someone lives up here?” Ria asked, confused. There didn't seem to be anywhere for a human to live... and then the dragon swooped overhead.

“PAARTHURNAX!” Cicero squealed, and Ria realised no human did.

“The Greybeards' leader is a dragon?” Ria gasped as Paarthurnax landed in the snow, watching her with interest.

“Greetings, Ziizahro,” Paarthurnax said, tilting his head, eyes not leaving Ria. “You bring a new friend with you. This is not Yol-Ah.”

“Eola knows him?” Ria said, amazed and yet she shouldn't be. Eola was known for being the Jester Dragonborn's close companion in his quest against Alduin, she'd presumably accompanied him here... and yet Ria couldn't imagine the Reach-Princess conversing happily with dragons and Nord Tongues.

“Yes, yes, of course she does,” Cicero purred. “But she is not here, no. Not today. Paarthurnax, Cicero has brought another! This is Sil-Maar-Yah, Cicero's lovely little child, and bearer of the dragon blood too.”

“Another...” Paarthurnax breathed, looking curiously at Ria and seeing it, seeing the dovah in her, seeing it as Odahviing had all those months ago. “So. Another Dovahkiin walks. I had sensed it for some time, but believed it to be that tahrodiis Miraak returning. I had feared his return, sensed it in the wuld-se-tiid. But now it seems to have stopped. The First Dovahkiin is no more... and the Last has an heir.”

“We killed him,” Cicero giggled. “He's very dead. Did Paarthurnax wish to see the skull?”

“I will take your word for it, Ziizahro,” Paarthurnax said, amused. “I mourn Miraak, but it is the waste of what he could have been that I mourn. He could have overthrown Alduin, yes. He could have been a great and powerful ruler of the joor, the one to end the Dragon Cult and bring about a true Enlightenment for his people. But alas, he sought only his own power and so it was never to be.”

“You knew him,” Ria whispered. Well of course he must have, Paarthurnax was probably still loyal to Alduin himself back then. Paarthurnax nodded.

“Yes. But his Thu'um is silenced and I do not regret the loss. Yours on the other hand, Sil-Maar-Yah, yours has just begun to be heard. Do you follow the Monah-Vulon like your bormah?”

“No, no, Ria is one of the Zeymahzinne-se-Ysgramor. A warrior, not an assassin,” Cicero said before Ria could ask who the Monah-Vulon was. “She is very good!”

“If you have trained her, I do not doubt it... and if you have killed Miraak together, you surely must have,” Paarthurnax murmured.

“Cicero did the actual killing,” Ria said, at the same time as Cicero cooed he couldn't have done it without her. 

“She was invaluable!” Cicero squealed. “She did all the hard work and difficult research, you know. Cicero just did the stabbing at the end.”

“I believe you,” Paarthurnax laughed. “It was a worthy deed, whoever wielded the blade. Well done to you both. Now then. You did not come all this way just to tinvaak of your sahrot kongrah against Miraak, did you?”

“I had to make a deal with Hermaeus Mora to learn how to control minds,” Ria admitted. “A man died horribly in front of me because of it, even Cicero didn't like watching it! And now I'm afraid I'll misuse it. Cicero said you could help?” Ria stared up at the old dragon, and he was old, she could see that, grey scales and tattered wings and wisdom in those eyes that told of years watching the world turn.

“Ria is a good person, Ria never would hurt anyone!” Cicero protested, giggling nervously. “But she is worried, so Cicero brought her here. Paarthurnax always said it was better to overcome an evil nature through great effort than be born good, so he would know, wouldn't he?”

“I do not think that is exactly what I said,” Paarthurnax said. “But you speak truth. By meditation on the Thu'um, I have kept my inborn urges in check. Sil-Maar-Yah, would you learn the same?”

Ria nodded, hopeful. Paarthurnax bowed his head and turned to the Word Wall.

“When two of the Dov meet for the first time, there are... formalities. By long tradition, the eldest speaks first. YOL TOOR SHUL!”

Fire poured from the dragon, and while his wings might be tattered, the old dragon's Thu'um was undiminished.

“Now, young Dovahkiin,” Paarthurnax purred. “Use your Bend Will Shout on me.”

“What?” Ria whispered, just as Cicero erupted in incoherent babbling about how Paarthurnax mustn't, he couldn't, even Odahviing feared that one.

“Quiet!” Paarthurnax roared. “Ziizahro, if you love your kiir-mal, be silent! Dovahkiin Sil-Maar-Yah, have no fear. Shout.”

So Ria did. “GOL HAH DOV!”

Paarthurnax didn't react, just watched her closely. 

“Now, young one. Try giving me an order.”

Ria had a fairly good intuition this wasn't going to work.

“Roll over.”

Nothing. 

“Breathe fire.”

Nothing. 

“Let me climb on your back.”

Paarthurnax tilted his head but did nothing, and Ria carefully hauled herself on to Paarthurnax's neck.

“Fly,” Ria gasped... and Paarthurnax merely yawned, remaining stubbornly fixed on the ground. As Ria had suspected would happen all along. Defeated, she slipped off him and back on to the snow.

“How?” Ria wanted to know.

“When one is truly master of oneself, one can resist all attempts by others at control. It is our own weaknesses that give opponents a way in,” Paarthurnax said calmly. “I can teach you, if you wish.”

“Yes,” Ria whispered. “Of course!”

“Then sit with me and we will begin. Let us start our meditations on FUS...”

Cicero grinned and slipped away as the lessons began. Hadn't he always known Ria wasn't evil like him? Ria was whole and a good person, Ria could be trusted! But if she didn't trust herself, then Paarthurnax was the best teacher Cicero knew. 

Leaving the Throat of the World and his daughter behind him, Cicero left for home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With a new Dragonborn, we couldn't not have the Greybeards involved. Also after all the heartbreak over Cicero refusing to kill Paarthurnax in WADLT, it's a little disingenuous to then never have Paarthurnax show up again, and this seemed like a good point to do it.
> 
> Also, Cicero+Arngeir scenes are never not funny.
> 
> Next chapter, Cicero returns to the Reach, and we find out just what's been going on in the Unholy Land while Cicero's been gone.


	23. Heart of Thorn, Bones of the Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero returns to Karthspire in triumph to a hero's welcome... only to find that the Reach is in trouble as a father's grief, king's weakness, queen's fears and the unleashed power of Reach-magic have brewed a perfect storm that could tear the country's heart apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been waiting to post this one for AGES. Came up with it all months ago, plotted it all out, and then couldn't do anything with it because the other stuff had to happen first, and I was blocked on that. But the prospect of this one kept me going! So what is it, you ask? Easy. It's what happened in the Reach while Cicero was away.

Delphine was waiting for Cicero in the Vilemyr Inn.

“Well, how'd it go?”

“Ria will be fine,” Cicero assured her, sliding on to the seat next to her and pinching a bit of her grilled chicken and swigging down some of her mead. Delphine let him. Might as well tally up all the offences and get the discipline over with in one go. “They will teach her how to control her Thu'um, she will not turn into Miraak. Cicero will never have to put down his own child.”

“That's a relief,” Delphine said, squeezing his hand and returning to her food. Silence fell, but Cicero wasn't snuggling her like he usually did. In fact, he was sitting there, looking very expectant and rather full of himself. Waiting.

“What?” Delphine asked. “You're after something, I can tell.”

“What, me? Humble Cicero? Never!” Cicero pouted, all wide eyes and wounded innocence. “Only Cicero was thinking on the way down. Isn't it fortunate that Paarthurnax is alive and able to gift his knowledge on to Ria? It's a good thing no one killed him last year, don't you think, Listener?”

Someone was definitely getting a good hard smack later. Yes, she had missed him, yes, it had been too quiet without him... but she'd forgotten what a little troll he was sometimes.

“Fine,” Delphine sighed. “You were right, I was wrong, Paarthurnax is an asset and will no doubt help Ria tremendously. Are you done?”

“Yes, Listener!” Cicero trilled, still smirking. Then he leaned over and kissed her cheek, nuzzling her hair. “Thank you, my sweetling,” he whispered. “Cicero is loyal and obedient, but he has his limits. Thank you for being reasonable in the end.”

“Thank you for coming back and not dying out there,” Delphine whispered, kissing his cheek. “Maybe you're a little troll, but you're my little troll.”

Cicero said nothing, wrapping arms around her waist and clinging, sighing happily, apparently quite content. Delphine cuddled him back. She'd definitely missed the little he-daedra, and he was very sweet when he was like this. It was nice seeing him happy.

Of course, it would also be rather nice wiping the smile off his face in private later on. Trolling his Listener might be tolerated... but never was it going to go unpunished for long.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day saw Cicero and Delphine leaving Ivarstead and once away from the town, Cicero was calling Odahviing for a ride home. The reunion was as emotional as expected, with Dragonborn and dragon nuzzling each other, Cicero splayed all over Odahviing's snout, then Cicero excitedly squealing to Odahviing about how he'd killed Miraak and no one would ever hurt or mind control Odahviing again... and if a dragon could cry, Odahviing might have. As it was, he'd gone quiet, closed his eyes for a long moment, then quietly said two words not often heard from a Dovah's lips.

“Thank you.”

Cicero had held him as best he could, and then it was time to go home. The flight had been exhilarating, curving round the Throat then over the Pine Forest with Dragonsreach visible in the distance, and then turning north and over the Druadachs. Cicero felt his heart beat as he saw Lost Valley Falls below, Dragon Cult ruin turned Reachfolk border outpost, the south road winding alongside the Karth, then Hroldan Village, a flourishing little settlement with the Forsworn no longer attacking and Reach money there to rebuild it instead of going to line the Silver-Bloods' pockets.

Then the Karthspire itself, the fortified camp below it, Odahviing wheeling round to the back, and the Akaviri courtyard spread out below, several figures getting up to welcome their Listener back as Odahviing landed... and then cheering as they saw Cicero with her.

“Cicero, my boy, you're back! Successfully, I hope!” Esbern, sitting out in the sunshine, looking eager to get all the details off him.

“Cicero! You made it! Is Miraak dead? Did you stab him, did you?” And that was Aventus, also looking keen to hear it all, in as much bloodthirsty detail as possible, no doubt, and Sithis help him, had the child grown _again?_ The boy was nearly as tall as Cicero already and he was only twelve! This was most unfair.

Then Ralof and Ingun, both standing in front of some sort of still, who had been arguing, watched by another figure in Forsworn armour who was sitting cross-legged on the ground and looking vaguely bored by the whole thing.

“Cicero! Welcome back! You're just in time for the juniper mead tasting!” That was Ralof, nearly crushing Cicero in a cuddle, and trust Ralof to have finally got somewhere with his ridiculous juniper mead idea. Some Nord innkeeper used to make the stuff at Helgen before Alduin had destroyed the place, and Ralof had mourned the loss ever since. Then he'd moved to the country where juniper was the only fruit-bearing plant that ever grew and mourning had become an obsession.

“We've worked very hard on this,” Ingun said cheerfully. “We'll be giving Mother a run for her money at this rate.”

“She won't be pleased,” the Nord in Forsworn armour said, grinning. Ralof just shrugged.

“Ah, what's she going to do, send the Dark Brotherhood after us?” That got a laugh from everyone.  
Cicero dried his eyes, calmed himself down, and accepted the first bottle of newly-produced juniper mead. It was... more bitter than most mead. But not unpleasant, rather heady in fact. Cicero giggled, feeling a little light-headed and promptly sat down before he fell down. Right next to the Nord dressed like a Forsworn.

“Hello!” Cicero giggled. “Were you here when Cicero left? Or are you new? You look familiar. Would you like some mead?” He offered the remaining half of the bottle to his new friend, who grinned and took it off him and it was only as he turned and Cicero saw the red facepaint just like Kodlak's that Cicero realised who he was.

“Argis!” Cicero squealed. “Cicero didn't know you were coming. Cicero thought you were... hang on.” Cicero had last seen Argis lying dead on the floor of the Temple of Sithis, blood everywhere and flesh charred and burnt by Destruction magic, so how was he sitting here, apparently alive and well and knocking back juniper mead quite happily? He didn't even have a mark on him. Even the facial scars were gone and both his eyes were intact and...

“How??” Cicero whispered. “You were dead, I saw you!”

“I got better,” Argis shrugged, hint of a grin on his face, and Cicero could definitely see the resemblance to Eola and Madanach when he did that.

“YOU DO NOT GET BETTER FROM DYING!” Cicero cried. “That is the point! We would be out of a job were it otherwise! How – HOW DID YOU DO IT?”

“Wasn't me, not exactly,” said Argis. “But when your da's the King of the Forsworn and feeling horribly guilty... well. Forsworn medicine's the best in the world. That Heal Dead spell they used really did get rid of every scar I had. And once they'd done that... turns out Da really is the Witch-King. I didn't even know he knew any Hagcraft. Delphine, can I show him?”

“Go on, just this once,” Delphine sighed, and Argis removed the top of his Forsworn gear to reveal the open wound in his chest, cauterised edges but still a lurid shade of red, thorn bindings securing the Briar Heart into the cavity where his heart had once been.

Cicero stared at it in awe. He'd seen Briarheart warriors before, of course he had, but most of them were grim-faced fanatics who had little time or patience for Cicero's fun and games and didn't really talk much. He'd never had one be friendly before.

“Does it hurt?” Cicero breathed, fascinated. Argis shook his head.

“Don't even feel it any more. Except when people do that – stop poking it, you little-!”

Cicero was prodding the Briar Heart, cooing softly, or at least he was until Ingun took his wrist and pulled his hand away.

“Stop poking Argis's heart,” Ingun said calmly, letting Cicero go and coming to sit next to Argis, smiling as she snuggled into him. “Only I'm allowed to do that.”

Argis grinned and put an arm round Ingun, kissing her cheek, and that was definitely not something Cicero had ever seen before, a Briarheart being affectionate to anyone.

“Does it still work?” Cicero asked before his brain caught up to tell him that was a bad idea. “Sex, I mean. Cicero didn't know Briarhearts could...”

Cold stares from Ingun and Argis and an odd tense silence from everyone else.

“Yes,” said Ingun tersely. “Not that we're going to explain the details to you.” 

“No, no, Cicero didn't mean – only Cicero had thought Briarhearts were spirits of pure vengeance!” Cicero cried. “Pitiless warriors devoted to slaughtering Nords! Cicero hadn't thought... Cicero has never seen one with a girlfriend before!”

Faint smile off Argis, and Cicero relaxed a little. He was forgiven at least.

“You thought we were all mindless automatons, did you? Well, you'd be right in most cases. Most Briarhearts took the Briar to get revenge and gain power, bound to the Hag that made them, and she usually won't care about who they were before. So only the hate comes back. But when you're not brought back by a Hag but by your own father, who it turns out was heartbroken when you died and is desperate to have his son back, not a pitiless warrior...” Argis lowered his eyes, smiling sadly. “I came back as me. Because I wanted to. Because what he was offering was what I always wanted. To be his son again, and more than his son. Kaie's still heir, that's understood, and Eola after her, but with this in my chest, I'm a leader, Cicero. I run Karthspire now, I'm Da's link with the Brotherhood, and housecarl to you lot in a different way. Once the Forsworn would have just seen a Nord and not the son of Madanach – but not with this in me.” Argis thumped his chest, looking proud beyond all reasoning. “I am Argis Rhan-Brenion at last, and I've never been happier.”

He looked it too, Ingun snuggling against him and not seeming to mind about the chest cavity and the lack of a pulse and the room temperature skin. Argis the Bulwark, Rhan-Brenion and Briarheart, seemed content and at ease in a way he'd never been before. At least until Ralof interrupted.

“Tell him the full story.”

“The full story? Hircine's sake, Ralof, the man just got back here after killing a Dragonborn, mine's not that interesting compared to his,” Argis sighed.

“I thought it was,” Ingun piped up. 

“It is,” Delphine said, sitting down next to Cicero. “And I suppose we can't hide the news forever. You'd better tell him, Argis.”

“Tell me what?” Cicero asked, not liking the sound of this. Trouble in the Reach, the Night Mother had said. Things had happened, she'd said. He was needed, apparently. Cicero didn't know why, but he had a feeling Argis held the key to finding out.

“All right,” Argis sighed. “I'll tell you. You know how I died, trying to protect Muiri and the Temple. Well, you all know what happens to Nords who die valiant deaths...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Argis stared about him as he walked through Sovngarde's winding pathways. It was as Cicero had told him. Pretty woodland scenery with flowers and streams and trees. Oh and statues of Greybeards, as if Nords didn't have any female heroes. And the sky. The strange vortex to Aetherius that gave the lie to this place as paradise. Argis thought if he stared too long, he'd go mad.

He kept walking. There was some mistake, surely, someone would realise who his father was at some point, and then he'd be off to the Void where he belonged. Where his father had always said true Reachmen ended up.

But his mother had always told him tales of Sovngarde, and now here he was, her blood winning out in the end.

 _I died defending the Dark Brotherhood on my Forsworn father's orders!_ That was no hero's death, was it?

Apparently any death in battle counted, even if the cause wasn't terribly honourable.

So here he was, Argis ap Madanach, son of the Scourge of the Nords, in the Nordic afterlife. There was a bitter irony here, and Argis just hoped there wouldn't be a lot of embittered Nords here who'd been sent here by the Forsworn and wanted revenge.

Such as the entire Stormcloak army from the Battle of Markarth, Ralof's former comrades in arms.

Galmar Stone-Fist who'd once taken a battleaxe to his youngest sister.

Ulfric Stormcloak who'd killed his eldest.

Sithis help him. Argis was doomed. They'd find out who he was and kill him, he was sure. Which begged the question, could he die out here? He wasn't sure and didn't want to find out, although Cicero had seemed to think souls in Sovngarde regenerated. His mother had said it apparently.

Hmm. Stelmaria. She was here, Cicero's formidable mother. She'd help look after him, Argis was sure. That cheered him up. And talking of mothers... his own was here, must be. Inga Fair-Shot, crack shot with a bow, not bad with a greatsword either, and teller of the best stories he'd ever heard.

Argis missed her. Maybe he could cope with Sovngarde after all. Maybe. So he hurried on to the whalebone bridge, not sure how long he'd been dead for now and then realising it didn't matter. Not like he was going back.

Waiting for him was the biggest warrior he'd ever seen.

“Tsun, I take it,” Argis said, craning his neck to look at him and at six foot two, Argis rarely had to crane his neck for anyone.

“Welcome,” Tsun said. “You have reached Shor's Hall, final resting place of Skyrim's greatest heroes and finest warriors. You've earned a place here by Shor's decree.”

_Does Shor know I'm a Reachman on the inside?_

“I see,” Argis said, guessing how this next bit was going to go, and in a civilised afterlife, the fires would be burning, high fives from those waiting to greet you, your ancestors already there to welcome you in and pour you a jenever. Not here, oh no.

“But before I can admit you,” Tsun continued, “I must first put you to the warrior's test.”

Of course he did, what was a Nord afterlife without the chance to die horribly?

“Before we get down to the bloodshed,” Argis said quickly, “I have a couple of questions.”

“Ask,” Tsun said, lowering his battleaxe. “I will answer if I can.”

“Is Ulfric Stormcloak in there?” Argis asked, and Tsun raised an eyebrow.

“He is. He died a true Nord in the end and although the Night Mother tried to claim him, Shor deemed his death too heroic for the Void and claimed his soul.”

Shor was going to be an even deader god when the Night Mother caught up with him, Argis was quite sure of that. All the same, in the interim, it looked like he'd have to face the bastard across the table every day. Great.

“And is there a woman called Inga Fair-Shot in there? She died ages ago, in the Markarth Incident,” Argis said hesitantly. Please, please let her have passed...

To his relief, Tsun nodded. “Yes, she's here. She's your mother, isn't she. You look like her.”

“Yeah,” Argis said, finally smiling. “Yeah, she's my ma.”

“She will be pleased to see you again, and no doubt proud of you,” Tsun said, his voice kind even as he unshouldered his axe again. “Come, prove yourself for the last time, Argis Ingasson.”

Argis reached for his own sword, dreading this... and then a black light blazed out of the chasm beyond and a male voice echoed out of it, a voice Argis never thought he'd hear again.

_“Heart of thorn, bones of the wild... in life, Forsworn... rise from death, blood of my blood.”_

Argis felt a little thrill run down his spine. The words of the Briarheart Ritual... but here? In Sovngarde? His bloody _father_ performing it?

Trust Madanach ap Caradach to put in one last word and do it in style too.

Sovngarde itself had gone cold and dark, and from out of the chasm, briar vines were crawling... heading straight for him.

_Da, please tell me you're not..._

“What dark art is this?” Tsun snapped, raising his axe to hack at the vines. “This is Sovngarde, not some realm of the Witchmen!”

“Stop!” Argis cried. “They're my people too!” 

Tsun ignored him, his blade swinging down, and Argis couldn't help himself. He sprang forward, sword raised, and blocked Tsun's strike, crying out from shock but just managing to stop Tsun severing the vines. Almost as if in thanks, they started to twist around his legs, and as they did so, Argis felt strength flood into him, the strength of a thousand men and women, a long line of Reachfolk all sending their power to him. And Argis howled into battle like a true son of the Reach.

It was brutal. It was bloody. It was a close fight. But it ended with Tsun backing away, lowering his weapon.

“You fight with strength not your own,” Tsun said darkly. “Step away from those and face me on your own, Nord. You are strong enough without it.”

“I am nothing on my own, we none of us are,” Argis growled. “But together we are mighty. Fight me, and you fight all of the Reach.”

“You're a Nord,” Tsun snapped, but he was frowning at Argis. “But not a true one, it seems. Your father's a witchman.”

“Yes,” Argis said proudly. “And that is Witch-King to you.”

“And he's doing... this,” Tsun said, sniffing in distaste at the vines. Argis nodded.

“Yeah. I think he's giving my body a Briar Heart,” Argis said, and then the significance of that hit home. Briar Hearts were hard to grow, they were rare! Madanach had declared them the property of the Mournful Throne, no one not a Matriarch or healer-alchemist-shaman in the ReachGuard's service was allowed to possess one, not without the King's sanction. They were only given to the best, to those deemed worthy. To have one was the mark of a true Reachman, and no Forsworn could ever deny the birthright of one who'd taken the Briar. Argis had thought about it, thought of going to the First Matriarch and asking... but not without his father's approval and if he'd thought he'd get that, he'd never have needed to ask in the first place.

And here was his father offering it to him. A place in Reach aristocracy his for the taking... and Madanach was performing the rite personally. Claiming him as blood of his blood.

_“Heart of thorn, bones of the wild... in life, Forsworn... rise from death, blood of my blood.”_

Madanach's voice echoing around Sovngarde, something Argis would never have seen coming and was unlikely to happen again, and then Argis listened again and he realised how tired his father sounded. Madanach sounded exhausted and worn out and near the end of his resources, chanting over and over, his heart breaking and Argis wondered how long the rite had been going on.

“This is Shor's realm, warrior,” Tsun said, eyebrows knotting together. “His Hagcraft cannot prevail here. You have earned your place, he cannot snatch you back. Not now.”

“I've not passed the test yet,” Argis said, thinking fast, and while he'd always been the quiet type, he'd never been stupid. He had far more of his father's cunning than anyone ever guessed. “Not final until I cross the bridge, is it?”

Silence and then Tsun hung his head. “No,” he admitted. “It isn't. And it is your choice, Argis. But I beg you, choose Sovngarde. Choose your mother's blood, choose your true people. Don't follow after your father's dark arts.”

Argis bristled a little at that, although he also had to admit walking around with no heart wasn't exactly natural either. But to be a Briarheart warrior...

He turned back to the chasm, Madanach's voice still echoing out... but not the ritual words, not any more. Madanach seemed to have given up hope.

 _“Argis bion, I'm sorry. So sorry. I'm the world's worst... Argis, please, please come back to me. I told the girls, Kaie and Eola know now, so does Elisif, so does everyone. They know you're mine... Just come back to me. Please. Blood of my blood, agar y agarma, tolas bar mabion, mi cari te, Argis tolas bar, gwelta...”_ Then a pause, and when the ritual chant started up again, it was a dull and monotonous chant with barely any life left in it.

Argis stared at the chasm, at the vines starting to loosen their grip, and the rite was failing, he realised. If he didn't go now, that'd be it. His father would be lost to him forever.

He mentally translated the Rhanic that his father had been almost weeping out by the end. _Blood of my blood, come home my son, I love you, Argis come home, please..._

A thousand memories of Madanach, first the king taking Markarth for his own, and there'd been bloodshed but nothing compared to the devastation Ulfric had wreaked. Madanach the king stopping by his mother's house on a tour of the city, being polite and nice to him, and then arranging a tutor so Argis could learn to read properly, a skill his mother had never managed. Madanach looking on indulgently as Argis played with the two older Reach-Princesses.

Madanach holding out his arms at Druadach Redoubt after Argis had seen his mother killed and claiming him for the Forsworn... and finally admitting Argis was his, but the camp wasn't to breathe a word of it. Madanach teaching him how to fish, how to sword-fight, telling him stories, telling him of the old gods, turning him into a Forsworn warrior, and being so proud of his son, even if he wasn't any good at magic and was towering over half the camp by the time he was fourteen. 

Madanach being captured and never able to be his father again, and Argis had had to hide his grief, become a Forsworn agent working for Nepos, guarding Cidhna Mine and convincing Thonar he hated Reachmen. Madanach escaping, Argis quietly realising things were changing fast, joining the regular guards after Thonar died and the mine temporarily shut... and then the Stormcloaks took over and Argis found himself incarcerated along with the rest of Markarth's former guard force.

He'd made it a point of pride to take Madanach's old cell. No one had gainsaid him. They'd needed a leader and Argis had taken charge. And then the uprising had happened, Thongvor had been killed, and when the Forsworn had secured the city, Madanach had paid a personal visit as Reach-King. Argis had gone out, seen his father there, seen the emotion in his father's eyes as he saw Argis emerge from his old cell, and he'd been the first to fall to his knees and pledge loyalty. The others had followed, and Madanach had had them all removed, bathed, fed and treated by the healers. Then there'd been an emotional reunion in private with a father too furious to speak, and while Argis had whispered it hadn't been so bad, Madanach had hissed not to lie to him, he knew, he _knew_ and dear gods, had Skooma been involved? No, no time for any to get smuggled in and Madanach had almost cried with relief to hear it. 

Then the siege, the long drawn out siege and Argis had been there, helping to defend his home, and with two of Madanach's key political opponents gone and far more Forsworn available to help, they'd held out. Just. And then the Day of the Dragon came, and the Stormcloaks were no more.

Argis hadn't expected to end up as housecarl to the Brotherhood, but a job was a job and it did get him out of Forsworn politics... and close to his littlest sister, who'd turned out to be just like his childhood playmate Eithne, and very good company. Not to mention close to Muiri, who he was near certain fancied him... and then he'd died. And Madanach had never got round to telling anyone who he really was. Until now, it seemed.

“Hold on, Da, I'm coming,” Argis breathed, reaching down and grasping the vines, letting them entwine around his arm.

“You're not seriously turning your back on Sovngarde,” Tsun said, disbelieving. Argis nodded apologetically. Truth was, he barely remembered his mother, only that she was pretty and had been kind and told the best stories. But his father... his father was everything he wished he could be. And right now his father, the all-conquering warlord that had taken back the Reach, was falling apart without him. Argis couldn't abandon him, not now.

“I'm going home,” Argis said, raising his voice for all to hear. “My father needs me.”

“What about your mother?” Tsun cried. Argis just shot him a withering look.

“She's safe in Sovngarde and nothing can hurt her now,” Argis snarled. “Isn't that the point?”

Without waiting for an answer, Argis ran for the chasm and jumped in, letting the vines guide him home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Argis woke, he was cold. He was cold, it was dark, his chest hurt and it felt wrong, like a rock shoved into him. And the sound, he could hear it, a thousand whispering voices, and inside a connection to the land, a deep knowing of the local landscape, the rock's secrets, something of the Dwemer who'd lived here once... and the Reachfolk who'd shed their blood for this land.

He was linked to the land, and the land would feed him, an unending source of strength if he needed it – and he felt stronger. Physically stronger, and inside a fire of emotion that could burn the land and boil the sea if he felt minded to.

And above all of that was a connection, a bond of heart, soul and blood, linking him to the man sitting next to him. 

“Da?” Argis whispered.

He was lying in one of the alcoves in the Hall of the Dead, and sitting next to him on a wooden chair, small table by his side with blades and bloodstained cloths and a bowl of water and an ornate wooden box that Argis realised probably held his original heart, was the King in Rags himself, dressed in Forsworn gear but without the top, blood all over his hands and chest and even in his hair from where he was currently running his fingers through it. And Madanach the Reach-King was crying. Quietly, of course. Softly and subtly, not screaming his grief out to the world, but definitely feeling it. He had his hands over his face, clearly not having realised the rite had worked, and Argis could actually feel the heartbreak pouring out of him.

“Da, don't cry – OW! Fucking Daedra...” Argis had tried to sit up, not fully realised that the alcoves were not intended for anyone to sit up in and promptly cracked his skull on the stone. He fell back, dazed – but his father had heard him.

“What – Argis??” Madanach lowered his hands, staring at him – and then disbelief gave way to a bright, brilliant smile, joy unadulterated as Madanach realised his only son had come back. “You're – it worked!”

“My head hurts,” Argis whispered, rubbing his skull, and Madanach was there with a healing spell, easing the pain, and then gently supporting Argis's head like he would a baby's as he guided his son carefully off the alcove and into the passage, cradling Argis tenderly as he clutched him to his chest. 

“Are you all right?” Madanach breathed, and Argis nestled into his father's chest, feeling the warmth, the sheer love pouring out of him and he nodded. How could he not be? His father loved him, _his father loved him,_ he wasn't disappointed or ashamed at all, he was delighted to have him back. Argis felt a sense of bone-deep contentment settling over him as he realised it was gonna be OK. Screw Sovngarde. This was where he belonged.

“Yeah,” Argis whispered. “Yeah, I'm fine. Thank you. For... you know.”

“Thank you for coming back,” Madanach said quietly. “I didn't think you were going to.”

While the Briar Heart ritual had a nearly 100% success rate when performed on willing volunteers who were alive at the start of it, it only worked half the time on average when performed on a corpse, and the longer they'd been dead, the less the chances were. You couldn't force a departed soul to return.

“It was that or spend my afterlife in Sovngarde watching Ulfric over breakfast every morning,” Argis shrugged. “So I told Tsun to kiss my Forsworn backside and came back.”

“You were in Sovngarde??” Madanach did look surprised at that. “Wait, you got to Sovngarde and told it to go fuck itself?”

Argis nodded, wondering how his father would react to that. He needn't have worried. Madanach smirked and kissed his forehead.

“That's my boy,” he said fondly. “That's a true Reachman.” Then sadness as Madanach stroked his hair. “Your mother must be there, did you not get to see her?”

“No,” Argis whispered, pangs of regret at that. But maybe one day, when he died permanently. Perhaps. “Never got into Shor's Hall.”

Hesitation and then Madanach tightened his grip, seeming to know what that had cost him. “She'll be heartbroken. I don't regret doing it, and I'm glad you chose me... but Inga will miss you.”

“I missed her for twenty years and more,” Argis said quietly. “I'm used to it. I'm not used to hearing you cry though. Don't want to be either.” The mere thought unsettled him – his father as a lonely, vulnerable frail human being, not the semi-mythic hero the rest of the Reach saw him as. It just seemed wrong.

“Old gods willing you won't see it happen again,” Madanach said quietly, reaching for a cloth and soaking it in water, wiping the blood off them both as best he could. “Come on, let's find your sisters. You've been dead a day, just about. Kaie's around, Eola's due to visit this morning with Delphine, not sure if Cicero's coming or not. I think she's sending him off to avenge you. Don't know how she'll react when she finds out she doesn't need to.”

Argis recalled the cultists and shivered. Cicero needed to all right.

“They worked for someone called Miraak. I don't know who that is, but he sounds dangerous,” Argis said, trying to remember what they'd shouted at him.

“He is. He attacked Jorrvaskr as well, but thankfully they saw his people off. He's another Dragonborn and he's trying to kill Cicero,” Madanach said, real worry in his eyes.

“Good luck with that,” Argis snorted. “You think I'm a powerful warrior, Cicero's something else.”

“He certainly is, but all the same, another Dragonborn who's proved himself an enemy of the Reach is something I can do without,” Madanach sighed, helping Argis up and leading him out, motioning for the Forsworn corpse-tenders to clear up after him. “Come on, let's go. Let's find Kaie. She'll be ecstatic to see you again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Silence as they'd emerged into the throne room, servants and guards alike staring in awe, and Borkul the Beast stunned into silence as he saw the man who'd been brought in as a corpse walk out alive – sort of. Nepos got up from where he'd been sitting, slowly shaking his head and whispering “Madanach, you didn't.”

“He did,” Kaie breathed, leaving Nepos's side and running to greet them. Thirty years living on one Forsworn camp or another had left her quite familiar with Briarhearts. “By the old gods, Da, I didn't know you knew the rite!”

“Keirine taught me,” Madanach said calmly. “She wasn't supposed to, but I kept on pestering her so eventually she cracked and spent a year teaching me the secrets of the Hags – this was years ago, mind. I wasn't even married then.”

Nepos raised an eyebrow, faint smile on his face as he contemplated just how First Matriarch Keirine might have got round the prohibition on training men in those arts in order to shut her brother up, before deciding such thoughts were a little unseemly and that perhaps dealing with the new Briarheart Rhan-Brenion was a better use of resources.

“So you brought your son back from the dead as a Briarheart,” Nepos said, looking Argis over. “Clearly it worked. But did it work like you hoped?”

“Better,” Madanach smirked. “He told Sovngarde to go to the Void, didn't you, son?”

“I – yeah,” Argis admitted. “Didn't fancy spending eternity surrounded by Stormcloaks. Ralof's enough for me. Er. Hello Kaie.”

Kaie was glaring at her brother, the brother who she'd worked alongside as a Forsworn agent for years and never suspected was her kin.

“Don't you hello me, you two-faced son-of-a-bitch. You never told me!”

“Kaie...” Madanach growled. Argis just rolled his eyes, reacting to Kaie knowing everything now by defaulting to all the previous patterns of behaviour he'd established with her. She might not have known he was her brother, but he'd known and he'd always treated her like a sister.

“I die, go all the way to Sovngarde, kick Tsun's arse and then get dragged back here, and this is what I get – ow!” Kaie had slapped Argis's face, and then was hugging him.

“You idiot,” Kaie whispered. “You should have said something. Don't lie to me again, you hear?”

“I won't,” Argis promised, hugging his sister back. By the gods, it was good to finally be honest about it. This had been worth coming back for, a second chance at having a family.

Then footsteps and the voice of someone who'd known nothing but horror stories of the Forsworn until a year ago rang out.

“Madanach? Madanach, where've you been all morning, I was worried. They said you were doing some sort of preparation ritual...?”

Madanach's smile abruptly faded as he realised in all the excitement he'd completely forgotten to say a single thing about his plans to his pretty young Nord wife. He turned round to see her standing there in her usual nice Jarl's clothes, circlet in place and looking fabulous despite the scars raking the Wolfslayer's cheek and the blind eye.

“Elisif! Elisif ceilhina, look, the ritual worked, I've got my son back... Elisif?”

Elisif had stopped, stared at Argis, wondered at first who that man her husband was embracing was... then he'd turned round and she'd seen the Briar Heart, recognised him, realised... and reacted exactly as you would expect a non-mage Nord who was a faithful worshipper of the Eight to react to a dead man being reanimated by magical arts unknown.

Elisif's screams echoed painfully off the walls, and Argis's sensitive Briarheart hearing made his ears ring.

“What have you done??” Elisif cried. “Eight help me, Madanach, what have you _done??_ ”

Panic and terror consumed Madanach as he moved towards her to try and comfort her, but Elisif backed off, clearly revolted by the very sight of him.

“Elisif,” Madanach gasped. “Elisif, I have my son back, please, I know it's a shock but...”

“Falk was right about you,” Elisif whispered, shaking her head. “ _Everyone_ was right about you, you're a monster, you're _insane,_ you – Arkay save me.” Elisif turned and fled, back to their bedroom, easily outpacing Madanach as he fled after her, terrified, shouting her name as he followed.

A horrible sense of foreboding trickled down Argis's spine and his Briar Heart started to throb. His father was unhappy, his father was scared and that was wrong, everything about that was wrong. His father needed him and so Argis followed.

He was just in time to see Madanach follow Elisif into their bedroom, catching up with her and cornering her and grabbing her by the wrists. Elisif was sobbing, struggling in his grasp.

“Let me go,” Elisif cried. “Don't touch me, get away from me!”

“No!” Madanach shouted, wrestling with her as he backed her into the table. “You aren't leaving me, you can't, you're my wife, I love you, please!”

“Let me go!” Elisif cried. “And don't say that, you don't even know what love is, how can you, you're a necromancer!”

“He's my son!” Madanach cried. “I couldn't... I had to try it, I couldn't not see him again, don't you understand?”

Elisif was still squirming, the desperate fear of a trapped animal in her eyes, and like any animal cornered by a fiercer and stronger one with no way out, she lost all sense of reason.

“Get away from me,” Elisif breathed, tears streaming down her face.

“No,” Madanach gasped, gripping her tighter. “No no no, because if I do, you'll leave me.”

“Get _away_ from me!” Elisif shrieked, frantically trying to break free. “Madanach, I mean it!”

“I'm not letting you go!” Madanach insisted and Elisif finally lost her head completely.

“FUS RO DAH!” she screamed, the knowledge Cicero had given her for use on the one who stole her throne being brought to bear on her completely unshielded husband, and Madanach went flying... straight into a solid stone wall. His eyes fluttered closed, a trail of blood streaking behind him as he slumped to the floor, unconscious... and something in Argis broke.

Briarhearts were spirits of vengeance bound to their creator, and while Argis hadn't thought that applied to him, that was only because his creator hadn't wanted revenge or a servant but his son who loved him. So Argis had come back as Argis... but he was still bound to his creator, bound and raised by love not hate but still bound – and seeing Madanach hurt provoked all a Briarheart's rage.

“What did you do?” Argis snarled as he advanced on Elisif, who looked scared and guilty and horrified, eyes finally leaving Madanach as she stopped reaching for her husband and started raising her hands to shield herself. It was to no avail. Argis grabbed the front of her clothes and hauled her off her feet.

“What did you do to my _father_ , you Admorhina bitch?” Argis roared at her. 

“I'm sorry!” Elisif pleaded. “I didn't want to hurt him – Madanach, wake up, please, I'm sorry!”

“Sorry?!” Argis snapped. “If you've hurt him, if you've damaged my da... I should kill you for this!”

Elisif shrieked, making his ears throb again and it would be so easy just to end her now, just grab her jaw in one hand, her shoulder in the other and _twist,_ and this threat to his creator ended, the Nord bitch dead on the ground and his Brenin, his vada, safe from her forever and Argis was on the cusp of doing it... until he felt darkness at his back and a voice ring out.

“That's ENOUGH, Argis! Put her down!”

Briarhearts were bound to the Matriarch that raised them but they instinctively responded to all Matriarchs... including non-Hag ones like the Chosen of Sithis. Slowly, Argis turned round to see the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood in her new black dragonscale armour and a katana at her waist, blue eyes boring into him, and while she was a full five inches shorter than him, he could see shadows around her ears and knew her for what she was. He let Elisif go, and the Queen of the Nords took one look at her barely stirring husband and staggered over to him, sobbing his name and begging for him to wake up, she was sorry, she hadn't meant to...

“Da!” Kaie gasped as she pushed past Delphine, crying out as she saw him down and hurt. “Oh my gods. Anu save me, what have you _done?_ Da!”

“I'm sorry!” Elisif sobbed. “I didn't mean to...”

Kaie pushed her away as she leant down to cradle her father. “Get out,” Kaie hissed, rounding on Elisif. “Get out of this Keep, out of this _city,_ get out of the Reach and out of our lives! Get back to Solitude and _stay there,_ because if you come near my father again, I will put a sword through your chest myself, no questions or debate!”

“You can't, I'm his wife!” Elisif whispered, still reaching out for Madanach. Kaie cast armour and raised a hand full of fire to her.

“The Void I can, I'm Torc-Brenyeen,” Kaie hissed. “Heir to the fucking Mournful Throne and with my father unconscious thanks to _you_ , there is no one in this town who outranks me. Now get out and be thankful it's exile not death.”

Elisif gasped, tears in her eyes and then Delphine spoke.

“Elisif. Go. Go back to Solitude, we'll sort this out.”

Elisif nodded, getting up and fleeing the room. Behind Delphine, Eola was there, hand over her mouth as she stared at her father... but she also saw his eyes flickering and one hand moving then the other and knew it wasn't as bad as it looked. And the woman who'd saved Elisif from her captors and who'd communed with Hircine with her, first called her Wolfslayer, couldn't not help her now. Particularly as Eola knew full well Elisif would not just Shout Madanach into a wall for no reason... and she also knew exactly what her father was like. So Eola ran after Elisif and Delphine went to kneel next to Kaie as Madanach's eyes fluttered open.

“El'zif,” he whispered. “Don' leave me.”

“She's gone, Da,” Kaie said quietly, furiously. “I will never let her hurt you again, don't you worry.”

Madanach tried to sit up and failed, collapsing back down even as the Keep's emergency healers were making their way in, potions at the ready, and Argis tried to work out what was going on. Madanach looked scared and unhappy and heartbroken, but the one who'd hurt him was gone, he was safe now, didn't he realise that?

“No,” Madanach was gasping, eyes not focusing properly as he looked wildly about him. “No, you've gotta stop her, she'll leave me!”

“Da,” Kaie whispered, stroking his back and trying to calm him. “Da, she hurt you.”

“She's my wife – El'zif? _Elis'f??_ Don't leave me!” Madanach sounded more plaintive and panicked than anyone in that room had ever even imagined he could sound, his voice rising to a shriek.

“Madanach,” Delphine said quietly, taking a hand in hers. “Eola's looking after her. You just rest and focus on recovering.”

“Delf'n,” Madanach whispered, something in him responding to Delphine's calm reassurances when nothing else got through, faith in his Listener unwavering. “Delf'n, help me. I scared her, I scared El'zif, you have to help me, please make her love me again, please...”

“Madanach,” Delphine whispered, stroking his hair with her free hand. “Even I can't make her love you.”

Madanach closed his eyes, whispering Elisif's name again, and as the healers got to work and helped him into his bed, he stared into space, looking as if he was the one who'd had his heart ripped out, not Argis.

Argis could only watch, barely reacting as Kaie hugged him. All he could do was try and reach out to his father through the mindlink, but Madanach was barely there. He didn't think Madanach was damaged physically, not irreparably anyway... but Madanach's mind and heart were broken and Argis didn't have a clue how to fix it.

His creator-father was unhappy and there was nothing Argis could do, and for a Briarheart, that was the worst sensation in the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Is he all right?” Cicero whispered, horrified at the idea of Madanach being hurt. He liked Madanach, he did! He could tell bloodthirsty tales of his exploits to Madanach and as long as it all happened outside the Reach, Madanach just laughed and encouraged him. Sometimes there was even jenever liqueur to drink, and depending on how good a mood he was in, Cicero was sometimes even allowed to cuddle him.

Of course at other times Madanach would call him a gibbering halfwit and threaten to fling Destruction spells at him, and quite often he would actually cast Destruction spells at him if Cicero kept on cuddling him for too long or if cuddling evolved into groping, but Cicero didn't mind that. It was affectionate casting of frost magic at him and that was fine with Cicero. And as for all the multitude of times Cicero had been up on breach of the peace and public order charges which invariably ended up with some very specific new laws being passed and Cicero mournfully sitting in the lock-up until Delphine came to get him, that was just Madanach doing his job and hardly personal. Even if Madanach did occasionally seem to enjoy passing sentence just a little too much now and then.

“Physically, yeah,” Argis sighed. “Healers gave him a clean bill of health three days later and he was running the Reach again within four. But he's not the same. I can feel it. All the time. Like a black cloud hanging over me. He just doesn't seem to enjoy anything any more and he's snapping all the time at everyone. Nothing's ever right, nothing's good enough... oh, and on day six, the stupid bastard went on a Skooma binge.”

Cicero whimpered at that. He knew what Skooma was. He knew they'd taken it in Cidhna Mine, knew Madanach was no stranger to the stuff... but he'd also thought Madanach had cleaned up once he'd got out, certainly once he'd become Reach-King and got engaged to a pretty young woman who probably wouldn't want a Skooma addict as a husband.

“They've got him on potions for that now,” Delphine said, rubbing Cicero's back. “They stop the shakes, ease off the cravings, oh and they also make him sick if he has anything with moon sugar in it. The Reach has some very specific laws on clear labelling of things containing moon sugar now.”

Which was a reassurance, but Argis still looked unhappy.

“It's not enough,” he said quietly. “He's meant to be in the treatment programme, meeting with a mind-healer regularly, attending this support group that the rest of the Cidhna Mine lot go to. But does he? Does he bollocks. Claims he's too busy running the country. My arse is he, he had plenty of time to close up early and have romantic little interludes when Elisif was here, he can't spare two hours a week to take care of his health? He's gonna fucking relapse at this rate, I just know it. I can tell. He doesn't care about anything any more. Which means the three of us and Nepos and Auntie Keirine when she can get away from Hag's End are constantly having to keep an eye on him. It's Eola's turn at the moment. That's why she's not here.”

“This has been going on all the time Cicero was away,” Cicero whispered, horrified. Not just for Madanach but for his lovely Eola, who cared deeply about her father even when she was at odds with him. And Delphine cared deeply for Eola and all this must have been horrible to watch. He looked frantically for her, and reached out as she came to sit beside him, taking him into her arms.

“Yeah, but we're managing. Just about,” Delphine said quietly. “Not easy with our Speaker worrying constantly, but we've got Argis back. That's good, right?”

It was, it was, but Cicero couldn't rest easy when he knew Eola was worried and their Reach-King patron in serious trouble from the sound of it.

“Can Cicero visit Markarth tomorrow?” Cicero whispered. “Cicero is worried.”

“Of course you can,” Delphine said, kissing him on the cheek. “But tonight, you'll be back with us. And never mind the Reach-King's inability to hold down a marriage, I think we all want to know what happened on Solstheim. So how do you kill a Dragonborn then?”

With great difficulty, was the answer to that. But Cicero didn't object to retelling the story, and this time he could include all the really _interesting_ bits that he hadn't told the Companions. So he did, and Karthspire Sanctuary drank juniper mead and welcomed their Keeper home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: See? SEE? ARGIS IS BACK! I regretted killing him off with so much more to be written about him... and then I realised there was one perfectly lore-friendly means of bringing him back to life, and when his father's the King of the Forsworn, there was really nothing stopping it happening. So it has! And I've even found him a lady friend - I wondered about his love life after this, thought 'who'd be weird enough to find a Briar Heart sewn into their boyfriend's chest hot?' And then I realised Ingun was the obvious answer to that.
> 
> And then it further occurred to me that while his sisters would be delighted, his stepmother would not react at all well to Argis coming back from the dead via weird dark magic, and that kicked off a whole new set of developments, the Skooma addict angle having been already fleshed out in more detail in Thicker Than Blood but dovetailing perfectly in with this plotline.
> 
> Next chapter, we see just how Madanach's doing after all the above (hint: not well) as Cicero goes to find Eola, who's never missed him more.
> 
> Notes on the Rhanic:
> 
> Agar y agarma - blood of my blood
> 
> Tolas bar - come home
> 
> Mabion - my son
> 
> Gwelta - please
> 
> Mi cari te - I love you
> 
> Admorhina - Nord woman (the h is silent)
> 
> Ceilhina (pronounced kayl-ina) - wife
> 
> Brenin - King
> 
> Vada - father
> 
> Rhan-Brenion - Reach-Prince
> 
> Torc-Brenyeen - Crown-Princess


	24. Family Restored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero finally returns to Markarth to look in on his in-laws, and sure enough, all is not well. But an entertaining story and the knowledge the trigger for all the drama is dead can go a long way to cheering up a Reach-King in mourning, and it turns out Cicero's not the only one who felt a visit to Markarth was warranted...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, you lot. This is it. The LAST CHAPTER! I can't believe this fic is actually finished. I was blocked for so long on it, but we're finally here. Thank you to everyone who is still reading and to all those of you who have said nice things. I hope you enjoy this one.
> 
> Warnings for: discussion of D/s issues, drug addiction, fingering and dirty talking.
> 
> The goblin song is a probable nursery rhyme turned drinking song from an old episode of Blackadder and its full lyrics are "See the little goblin, see his little feet. See his little nosy-wose, isn't the goblin sweet?"
> 
> Slan Gwasanaeth (y Rhan) = (Reach) Health Service, the free healthcare centre Madanach's set up in Understone Keep for Reach citizens.
> 
> Mameth Y Nocta = Night Mother
> 
> Brenhina = queen

Nearly six o'clock in the afternoon, and Cicero had meant to come earlier, he really had, but there'd been drinking and storytelling and dancing the night before, and waking up around noon with a sore head and a few hazy memories of the evening chiefly involving sitting on the banquet table in the main hall squealing while Ralof sat there with his arm around him singing some song about a goblin and his little nosey-wose. That juniper mead was clearly very powerful stuff, and Ingun was already excitedly talking about opening a Black-Briar Reach Meadery in Hroldan Village. Cicero was itching to see how her mother would respond to that one, but it would do no harm for the Dark Brotherhood to have a legitimate front business, would it? The Re-Opened Temple of Sithis, now staffed by no less than four ex-Forsworn fighters at a time, would only go so far.

And so here Cicero was in Markarth, Miraak's clothes and mask packed in his backpack, the staff having been claimed by Delphine once she found out it had two settings, kill and fun, the latter involving non-poisonous tentacles and a lot of fine control. Cicero had a horrible and rather enticing feeling he'd be on the receiving end of experiments later, and if Miraak's cock was gone forever, he could happily live with a wife who could wield tentacles.

The guards recognised him, standing to attention as he passed, and within minutes, a detachment of three had arrived from the barracks, their sole duty to attend to sweet Cicero while he was in the city. Very flattering of Madanach to arrange that but quite unnecessary, Cicero really didn't need the protection, he kept telling him that. Madanach had just grunted and told him he was having it anyway.

But that had been before, when Madanach had a pretty wife to love him and had his Skooma problem under control. Cicero wasn't sure what he'd find in the Keep now.

“Da, you need to eat something.” Eola and Cicero's heart leapt to hear her, his depraved little sugar princess, here and alive and not harmed by Miraak's cultists. Just her father's terrible decision-making.

“I'm not hungry,” Madanach growled. Court was clearly closed for the day, and Madanach was sitting at the table near his throne, picking over his dinner. He'd not eaten much.

“Doesn't matter, you need to eat!” Eola cried. “You barely touched breakfast, you skipped lunch, you're wasting away!”

“I said I wasn't hungry!” Madanach snarled, rounding on Eola, who flinched back. Madanach immediately looked contrite, returning to his dinner and taking a bite.

“I'm sorry, cariad, look, I ate something,” Madanach said, trying to sound reassuring. “Is that better?” 

Cicero crept up closer to see Eola in her Shrouded Robes, tears in her eyes as she patted her father's arm. Madanach was wearing a blue outfit in the style common to a lot of Skyrim's nobility, probably once the property of a dead Nord, circlet on his head but not looking as kingly as he once had. He'd lost weight and looked pale. Too pale and his eyes looked bloodshot and puffy. He took a sip from his wine goblet, hand shaking as he did so, and Cicero saw light glinting off the diamond ring on his left index finger. He still had his wedding ring on.

Cicero fingered his own, remembering the one time he'd surrendered it and how he'd got lost with the Daedra as a result. He didn't blame Madanach for hanging on to his, even with his wife gone.

“Are the shakes bothering you?” Eola asked gently. Madanach shook his head, but healing magic still flared from his hand anyway.

“No,” Madanach growled, clearly lying. Eola just sighed.

“Did you need a higher dose?” Eola asked, still sympathetic. “I can get the healers over here.”

“If the dose was any higher, it'd probably kill me,” Madanach sighed. “Leave it, cariad.”

Then Kaie emerging from the royal quarters, looking furious.

“Did you take your meds this morning??” Kaie shouted. “I just picked your next batch up from the Slan Gwasanaeth because I thought you'd be getting low, and what do I find in your cabinet but half the box still there!”

Madanach gritted his teeth, clearly guilty of that very thing, and Eola looked appalled.

“Da!” Eola cried, shocked. “You can't not take them, you need them!”

“I wanted some moon sugar in my tea!” Madanach shouted. “Nothing tastes of anything without it, it's one of the few pleasures I've got left! I'm the damn king, and you people won't even let me have that?? What's the problem anyway, I'm not hurting anyone!”

“You overdosed and nearly died!” Kaie shouted, “It was me and Argis found you, do NOT tell me you're not hurting anyone! He was freaking out, so was I!”

“You just want an excuse to declare Regency,” Madanach snarled, rising to his feet and turning on Kaie. “Don't deny it, you just want me shuffled off and out of the way!”

“I don't - !” Kaie cried. “Da, I just want you to be happy!”

“Happy??” Madanach shouted. “You sent my Elisif away!”

“She hurt you!” Kaie cried. “I spent nine years watching Ma ill-treat you, I'm not seeing it happen again from some idiot young Admorhina!”

“Don't you talk like that about -” Madanach started to say, fingers flexing... and then Eola saw Cicero there, standing rather awkwardly and fidgeting with his dagger hilt.

“CICERO!” Eola cried, getting up and running to him, clearly relieved beyond the telling of it to have him back, not to mention a distraction from her dysfunctional kin. She was in his arms in seconds, holding him tight and Cicero held on to her, not having fully realised just how much he'd missed her until now.

“Sweetling,” Cicero breathed, feeling her soft and warm in his arms, smelling of blood and flesh and desire and by Sithis, his sister in darkness was a welcome sight. He wondered how she'd have coped with Solstheim.

Probably better than he had. Certainly better than she seemed to be coping with a Skooma-addict father whose marriage had imploded.

“I missed you,” Eola whispered.

“So did I,” Cicero said quietly. “I killed Miraak! The filthy imposter is _dead_. Quite dead.”

“Good,” Eola breathed, tightening her grip. “Bastard wrecked my family, you don't do that and get to live. Let me guess, stabbing and fire?”

“Stabbing and _fire,_ ” Cicero growled, feeling his cock twitch as Eola moaned softly in his ear, and someone was going to get bent over furniture and fucked just as soon as he got her alone.

But first he'd have to wait until Madanach was gone, and right now the Reach-King was watching him intently. Cicero looked up and saw him standing there, arms folded... and a very satisfied smile on his face.

“You killed the bastard then,” Madanach said, grinning. Cicero nodded, not sure what to say to him now he was here. He could kill an evil Dragonborn but Skooma addiction and a broken heart were a bit beyond him. But Madanach was smiling and holding out his arms, and Cicero let Eola go and ran to the Reach-King, clinging on to him for a cuddle, and it was a measure of how lonely Madanach had been that he let Cicero snuggle up to him and didn't seem to mind at all.

“Well done, Dragonborn,” Madanach murmured, ruffling his hair and smiling as Cicero cooed and snuggled. “I'm glad it's done. Welcome back.”

Cicero squeezed Madanach back. “Thank you, Reach-King,” he whispered. “Cicero is glad to be back. Er... Cicero saw Argis! You brought him back! Cicero is very impressed, sir, very impressed indeed!”

“Glad someone is,” Madanach said roughly. “Suppose he also told you about the other thing too.”

“He may have mentioned that you cannot have moon sugar any more,” Cicero admitted. “And you and pretty Elisif have, er, quarrelled. That is sad, very sad, you both looked so happy together. Cicero is sorry.”

“Thanks,” Madanach said gruffly. “I miss her. It wasn't her fault, she got scared, she's not used to Reach-magic, and I should have warned her before I did it. But it's too late. I've lost her. She won't be coming back. Guess that's it now. Knew happiness was too much to hope for.”

Cicero whimpered and hugged him harder. Wrong for anyone to sound that hopeless and lost! Especially the fierce and deadly Reach-King. 

“Would you like to hear the story of how Cicero stabbed Miraak?” Cicero cooed. “Cicero hardly broke any laws! Not where anyone could see him anyway.”

Madanach did laugh at that and said yes, he would love to hear the story of How Miraak Died Horribly. So Cicero sat down with the Reach-King and his daughters, and about half a dozen other people who had all materialised out of nowhere on hearing the Dragonborn was back with a story to tell, and proceeded to tell the story, and aside from skipping over the details of what exactly happened when he first met Miraak, Cicero left not a thing out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“So Cicero came home,” Cicero finished. “And now pretty Ria is training with the Greybeards so she doesn't turn into another Miraak, and Cicero has brought a little souvenir back for sweet Eola! Look, sweetling, Cicero has brought Miraak's robes for you!”

Eola picked over the robes. She didn't look thrilled.

“They're lovely,” she said crisply. “Aside from the singed bits, bloodstains and gaping slashes in the back, but not to worry, I'm sure charred, bloody and falling apart will be all the rage once I'm seen wearing it. What exactly did you do to him again?”

“Looks like the previous wearer was brutally stabbed and set on fire by an angry Dragonborn,” Madanach smirked, ruffling Cicero's hair while he finished his dinner off, listening to a good story apparently having done wonders for his appetite. “Ach, never mind. Odvan! Take these over to Maelgwyn, tell him I'd like them fixed if possible. Failing that, duplicate the enchantments and work up another two sets in Eola's and my size. I fancy looking like a Dragon Priest.”

Cicero squeaked and then remembered the other thing he'd brought. “Cicero can help with that! Cicero has his mask, look! Would you like it, Reach-King?”

Cicero produced Miraak's mask, and Madanach took it off him, examining it closely, raising an eyebrow at Cicero. Then he pulled it on before turning to Cicero, one finger lifting Cicero's face to look at him.

“I am the First Dragonborn,” Madanach intoned. “Fear my Thu'um and yield, mortals.”

Much laughter from all around, particularly when they saw that Cicero had squeaked and gone scarlet, staring up at Madanach with lust-crazed awe.

“OK, I think you need to not wear that around Cicero, it's clearly affecting him,” Eola laughed merrily. “He's a delicate and sensitive boy, after all.”

“Daedra forbid I offend the Mameth Y Nocta,” Madanach laughed, removing the mask and replacing it on the table, patting it gently. “All the same, thank you. I think I might hold court in it now and then. Such as when a certain Dragonborn is up before me on drunk and disorderly charges again.”

Cicero meeped and clutched at Eola, unsure as to whether this was a good thing or not and Eola comforted him, grinning at his discomfort. 

“Me, I'm still having trouble believing Ria's your kid,” Eola said. “She seems so... normal.”

“Agreed,” Madanach said, to general agreement from those who'd met Ria. “She seemed like such a sweet girl. Hard to believe she's related to you.”

“Why does nobody believe me?” Cicero pouted. “Ria is Cicero's adorable little child! And she can breathe fire and fly dragons and kill _lots_ of things!”

“I don't doubt it,” Madanach said thoughtfully. “You'll have to bring her here. I'd like to meet her properly.”

“But you have met her!” Cicero said, confused. “In Dawnstar and then Whiterun and Solitude and here!”

“Yes, but I didn't know she was Ria ap Cicero then,” Madanach pointed out. “I'd like to talk to her. I bet Eola wants to as well, don't you, cariad? And Kaie's hardly ever seen her.”

“Damn right I want to meet the other Dragonborn!” Kaie agreed. “Cicero ap Davrha's spawned a kid, we want to see this for ourselves.”

Cicero could see there was no getting out of this, so he reluctantly agreed to invite Ria to Markarth so the Reach-King and his court could all meet her. What Ria would think of that was anyone's guess, but it would be nice for Ria to get to have a look round.

Story over, the gathering began to break up. It was getting late by this time, and Cicero in particular was looking forward to bed, especially as it would have Eola in it and it had been too long indeed since Cicero had bent anyone over and fucked them hard and he was definitely going to see if that was likely to happen tonight. From the way Eola was smiling at him, he had a feeling his chances were good. 

And then a little frisson went through all the Forsworn present as everyone fell into a fighting stance, bows lifted, hands on swords, spells all good to go, and Kaie was pushing past everyone, her face a frozen mask of rage.

“You have some nerve coming back here after what you did!”

“Where is my husband, Kaie.”

Elisif's voice shook a little but she sounded undaunted, no easy feat with half the Keep's guard presently taking aim, and probably the only reason she'd got this far was because the city and border guards had been too confused to know what to do with someone who was still queen and yet not queen.

That and she had Uaile at her back, dressed in Forsworn gear and ready to face off against her fellow countrymen and women if she had to.

Madanach had heard her voice and gone still, staring into space, heartbreak and fury at war in his eyes... but it was love and desperation that won out.

“That's enough, Kaie,” he growled, getting up and making his way over. “Stand down, _all of you._ ”

Spells flickered out, weapons were sheathed and guards backed away, everyone clearing a path between Reach-King and High Queen. Everyone but Kaie.

“Da, you can't honestly mean to talk to her!” Kaie protested. “After what happened?”

“After what happened, talking is the first thing we should be doing, don't you think?” Madanach said, eyes not leaving Elisif. She was still in her travelling gear, Saviour's Hide and Jagged Crown with enchanted Forsworn boots and gauntlets that Madanach had given her once. She'd still found time to do her make-up at some point though.

“She's an outsider, Da!” Kaie shot back. “She doesn't understand us or our ways, as has been made bloody obvious! We don't need her, Da.”

“Kaie,” said Madanach, voice only shaking a little. “When I last checked, I was still King of this country. So I'm telling you now, as your father and your king, and I will only tell you once. You will leave my marriage to me and if you don't stop talking and get out of the way, I'll have the ReachGuard remove you. Are we clear?”

“But Da - !” Kaie protested and Madanach did turn to her then, eyes positively glacial. He didn't say another word. He didn't need to. Kaie gave in.

“If she hurts you again, I am invoking the Act of Regency if you don't divorce her,” Kaie said softly, and then she shot Elisif a filthy look and backed off, retreating to where Eola was waiting with Cicero.

“What can she possibly want?” Kaie scowled. “Nothing good, I'm sure.”

“Namira forbid she just wants her husband back,” Eola sighed, rolling her eyes and watching as Madanach ordered everyone to stand down and leave if they weren't on the evening guard or cleaning roster and as everyone filed out, slowly approached his wife, standing about ten feet away.

“Elisif,” Madanach said, sounding calm enough but if you knew him well enough, you could see the emotion in his eyes. “What can I do for you?”

Elisif knew him well enough.

“Madanach,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “Can we talk? Alone, if you don't mind.”

Curt nod of the head from Madanach. “My study all right with you?”

Elisif nodded and she followed after him. Uaile fell in behind her, at least until Madanach noticed her.

“You're dismissed, Uaile, I won't need you for this.”

Uaile ignored him completely, glancing at Elisif.

“Brenhina?” Uaile asked. “I'm not leaving unless you tell me to.”

“You can stand down,” Elisif said quietly. “But thank you. Wait out here, if you hear fighting or see me running out in tears, you'll know it's gone to the Void.” Faint smile from the Nord Queen to her Reachwoman housecarl and Uaile did smile at that. 

“You take your orders from her over me?” Madanach snapped, bristling at his Cidhna Mine blood-brother's child just ignoring him.

“You told me to guard the Queen with my life, sir,” Uaile said calmly. “So I'm following that order, and if it turns out you're the one I need to guard her from, then I'll do my duty to my Brenhina. Sir.”

Madanach narrowed his eyes at Uaile. “I'm having words with your father,” he growled. But he said nothing more after that, just heading for his study, Elisif behind him.

Kaie watched, all glaring hostility as her father and stepmother swept out.

“I don't trust her,” Kaie said quietly. “What's she up to? Why here, why now?”

“Maybe she missed him,” Eola sighed, a little bored by Kaie's constant suspicion. “This is Elisif we're talking about here. She's a good person!”

“Exactly, way easier to hide what you're up to if everyone thinks you're innocent,” Kaie snapped. “Come on, let's get after them. I want to find out what they're up to.”

“You're eavesdropping??” That was Uaile, staring at Kaie in disbelief. “Kaie, this is your father. The Reach-King! Can't you let him have his privacy?”

“Last time I let him have his privacy, he downed three bottles of Skooma,” Kaie said firmly. “Because she freaked out and Shouted him unconscious. So no, I don't like leaving him alone with her.”

Eola glanced down at Cicero, cuddled up next to her with wide, worried eyes staring up at her, and decided some monitoring of this was called for.

“All right. We'll get after them, wait outside the study. That way if anything kicks off, we'll be there. And Kaie? She's his wife and he loves her like I don't think he ever did Ma. Try and show a little respect, hmm?”

Kaie glared but nodded, letting Eola take the lead with Cicero as the four of them crept after the King and Queen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Madanach's study was the same as it ever was. Typical Dwemer room with a table and chairs in the middle, a few cabinets, a safe, a strongbox, Madanach's personal tea set, and various trophies mounted on the walls with a shrine in the corner.

It sounded so normal put that way... but only the King of the Forsworn's trophies would consist of the preserved heads of Ulfric Stormcloak, Galmar Stone-Fist and Thongvor Silver-Blood mounted on the wall, and Thonar Silver-Blood's polished skull next to the tea set. And the shrine wasn't to any of the Eight either. It was a dragon mounted on a pillar, a shrine to Peryite the Divine Taskmaster, Daedra of Order. Apparently it helped Madanach concentrate, or so he said.

Elisif wanted to be appalled. She was appalled. The first time she'd come in here, idly exploring the Keep and looking for Madanach, she'd taken one look at the mounted heads and screamed. Madanach, not far away and on his way back from the privy, had come running, spells blazing, as did half the Keep's guards. She'd felt like a bit of an idiot having to admit it was the heads on the wall, which had got knowing grins from the guards and even her own husband as he'd dismissed them and made her tea, admitting he probably should have warned her about his trophy wall and was she all right?

She'd told him he was a bad man, and he'd grinned even wider and said yes he was, did it bother her? And it sort of did... but not as much as it should have, and once over the shock, she had to admit she wasn't exactly surprised, in fact seeing Ulfric and his lieutenants mounted on her husband's study wall gave her a perverse sort of pleasure. Take that, Ulfric. Teach him to kill her husband and break her heart. Husband number two clearly wasn't going to go the same way her first had. Maybe that was what had drawn her to him in the first place, seeing someone who clearly wasn't a weakling showing an interest. He'd turned out to be smart, witty, cunning, charming, and combining a secret romantic streak with some utterly depraved sexual proclivities, and Elisif was ashamed to admit that she loved every minute. What that said about her she had no idea, probably nothing good, but he'd remained an untamed, unpredictable force of nature and Elisif had loved him.

But even Elisif had limits and seeing a dead man up and walking around with _his heart removed and replaced with a Briar Heart_ had been a bit much for her. She'd always wondered why the plant buds were called Briar Hearts, and why the Forsworn named their fiercest warriors after them. Now she knew. It was unnatural, wrong, vile, a sin against Arkay... and Elisif, once she'd got over the shock, could feel only shame that her first thought was _how does it even work??_

And then she'd remembered the man who could have told her the details over dinner (maybe not dinner) or curled up in bed, eyes alive as he started explaining some technical detail of how magic worked, had last been seen lying unconscious on the floor after she'd hurt him, and she'd cried her eyes out.

Eola's letter had arrived a few days later, telling her he was all right, but that Kaie was furious and it was best if Elisif didn't try to contact anyone at the court. Her things had arrived not long after, left behind in the desperate flight out of Markarth, and Elisif had gone to pieces all over again.

Nothing had been right since and she'd felt more like a ghost than a real queen, and word had got round that she and Madanach had fought and then had come the horrible sympathy and pitying looks. Thank the Eight for Uaile, who'd consoled, petted, brought her tea, helped keep the world at bay and generally looked after her, and while she'd not known exactly how the rite to make a Briarheart worked, she'd told Elisif enough about them to calm her down and at least help her understand. Elisif still didn't approve, but at least she knew now that it didn't work on the unwilling, so Argis must have come back voluntarily. And, well, Madanach had been heartbroken over his death. He'd held her that night, talking non-stop about Argis and raising the boy at Druadach Redoubt, all sorts of stories about him and how he'd been one of the most skilled warriors they had, and then a few later stories, heartbreaking ones about Cidhna Mine, and then Argis had ended up in there himself after Thongvor took power. Madanach had actually needed a few moments to compose himself telling that one. When he'd talked of his own experiences in that mine, he'd always laughed them off or downplayed it, but Argis had been in there only a few weeks and for Madanach it had been devastating and heartbreaking that they'd done that to his son. Elisif had held him and vowed quietly she'd do whatever she had to to look after Madanach through this.

She hadn't realised Madanach would be so hurt and desperate he'd resort to arcane Reach-magic to fix things, but perhaps in retrospect she should have guessed he'd try something like that.

At least now she could say she understood.

“Did you want tea?” Madanach asked, producing two cups and heaping tea leaves into a little metal filter specially designed for the task. Elisif thought about it and nodded. Madanach cast a small fire rune and used a flames spell to heat the kettle up, bringing it to the boil in under a minute. Elisif said nothing, just placing the Jagged Crown on the table, watching the usual ritual and remembering happier days. He always made the tea. It was strange, a little quirk of his. Normally he'd delegate absolutely anything that smacked of domestic chores if he could but not the tea-making. He wouldn't turn down anything someone else brought him, but when they were alone together, it was just always something he did, make himself some and ask if she wanted any and then make hers as well. Usually with moon sugar in it, although the bowl didn't seem to be there any more.

“You're not having sugar?” she asked as he placed hers in front of her and took a seat, staring at his own cup.

Silence, a guilty silence as if he was weighing something in his mind that he wasn't sure he wanted to tell her and then a shrug.

“I can't have moon sugar any more,” Madanach said quietly. “In fact, there's some medication I need to take, I'm well overdue for it, excuse me.” He got up, opened his strongbox to reveal a whole rack of little blue bottles, one of which he took out and flipped the stopper out of.

“Dim anas aur,” Madanach whispered and knocked the whole thing back, clearly hating the taste. Then he locked the box and returned to his seat. Elisif couldn't call herself fluent in the Reach-tongue but she did know that one – not this day. It was what the Reachmen traditionally shouted to Sithis before going into battle, that the Void would not take them that day. So what was Madanach at war with? And why the potions?

“You never needed to take them before,” Elisif said, feeling a little chill prickle down her spine. “What are they for? And why can't you have moon sugar? Is it – is it because of what I did?”

There, it was out in the open, the subject neither wanted to talk about, that Elisif had hurt her husband, done to her second what Ulfric had done to her first, and all the tears and regret couldn't change that.

She couldn't even look at Madanach and he didn't answer for a moment. Then it came, the gentlest of touches as his fingers ghosted over her hand for a few brief moments then moved away.

“No cariad, it isn't,” and Elisif could have cried. But that didn't answer her question.

“So what is it?” she asked, daring to look up. He wasn't meeting her eyes.

“You know we've got a treatment programme for Skooma addicts,” Madanach said. Elisif knew, she'd gone to have a look around the clinic, stunned and amazed that Madanach would not only use the Reach's wealth to run a free healthcare programme for the citizens of the Reach but that he'd devote part of that to treating Skooma addiction like it was something that could be cured. 

“And you know why.”

She knew that too. That Skooma had been used in Cidhna Mine as a kind of currency and a way to pass the time, and that released prisoners with Skooma addictions had been a blight on the Forsworn ever since. Madanach's people had been researching the problem for years, trying to find a cure... and it appeared they'd found one, or at least a way for people to manage their addictions. Madanach had spoken with pride of his blood-brothers from prison finally getting the cravings under control and rebuilding their lives. Elisif didn't know all the details but she knew there were regular support groups where addicts helped each other, and sessions with trained mind-healers, and potions that stopped the withdrawal symptoms. It was something she'd been very proud of Madanach having put together, but what did it have to do with... potions. No moon sugar. Cidhna Mine. Oh no.

“You joined the Skooma programme,” she whispered. “But you're not... are you?”

Madanach didn't answer, just kept staring at his tea, faintest hint of a tremor in his hands.

“Madanach?” Elisif whispered, reaching out to him, about ready to cry or tear something apart or... It was a good thing Thonar Silver-Blood was already dead, because his bloody prison had turned her husband into an addict apparently, and suddenly any lingering reservations about the heads on Madanach's wall disappeared. “Talk to me?”

“I think I might be,” he finally admitted. “It wasn't so bad when I first got out, because there were people there and I had to set an example and you try relaxing with the Dark Brotherhood based right there – not that I didn't trust Delphine, but I knew I needed to keep her respect. So I used Restoration magic to stop the shakes, and it worked. And then I had an uprising to plan and the siege, and there was no Skooma to be had anyway. Then I realised I had to go through with marrying you, especially when you started writing and didn't seem inclined to take no for an answer, and I knew you'd never approve. So I stayed clean, but it took all my willpower to do it. But you were there and you seemed happy and you were better than any drug. I didn't need Skooma when I had you in my bed... but cariad, there were times when the cravings still took over anyway, and I ended up initiating sex not because I wanted to but just because it made them stop for a bit. So I managed and I was happy. And then it all went to the Void.”

She'd seen the terror in his eyes as he'd pleaded with her not to go, begged her. She'd thought him insane, been terrified he'd hurt her or take her prisoner... but if he'd been relying on her to keep him sane and off Skooma... and she'd not been there.

“You took Skooma,” she whispered, and he nodded.

“I'm sorry,” Madanach said quietly. “I didn't... I couldn't face the prospect of the rest of my life alone. I love Argis, love all my children, but you're my wife. Maybe I'm not the easiest man to live with but I do sincerely love you. I'm so sorry, cariad. I didn't mean to hurt you. I just didn't want you to go.”

Elisif bit her lip, desperately trying not to cry. She'd missed him so much, spent the weeks walking round the Blue Palace feeling numb and tearful all the time. She'd thought he'd been angry and furious and probably hated her. It had never occurred to her he'd felt the same, that he'd fallen apart completely without her.

“Where did you get the Skooma from?” she said, wondering if there was anything she could do to stop the supply. The Reach itself wasn't home to very many dealers – plenty tried, drawn by the prospect of addicts undergoing treatment, but somehow their mutilated corpses always seemed to end up staked out by the side of the road eventually. Elisif had a fair idea who was responsible, she wasn't an idiot or as naïve as she once had been, but the Dark Brotherhood couldn't be everywhere. All the same, if she knew who'd supplied her husband, she suspected Eola in particular would be quite interested in that information.

“There's these Argonians in Solitude,” Madanach admitted. “Jaree-Ra and his sister Deeja. I used to meet them by this side gate that the traders use to get goods into the city. Not many guards down there. I didn't take the stuff! I would just buy it off them. It helped just having some there. Until after you left, and then there didn't seem any point hoarding it. I used to keep it in a chest hidden at the bottom of the pool in our room here, knew you'd never find it there and even if you did, I'd just claim it must have been Thongvor's or something.”

“You utter bastard,” Elisif said without thinking. “You'd lie to me about it?”

Madanach just nodded quietly. “Yeah. I guess that's one of the symptoms, isn't it? Going to great lengths to hide it. Guess I ought to tell you I've been skipping meetings and mind-healer appointments and potion doses too, and no one can do a damn thing because I'm King. Unless Kaie deposes me, and that's not as unlikely as you might think.”

Elisif couldn't hold a sob in at that point, as she realised the husband who she'd loved for his strength was far more fragile than she'd ever thought, all this had been going on and she'd not known a thing. She could hit him. But her real anger was aimed at the Nords who'd got him hooked in the first place and even though they were dead, their heads mounted on his wall, that didn't mean she wasn't angry. They'd had their victory from beyond the grave after all.

But Madanach wasn't dead, and at least he was telling her the truth now.

“You came here to ask me for a divorce, didn't you?” Madanach said softly, his voice sounding flat and featureless. “I don't blame you. I – fine, if that's what you want. I could live for another twenty years, I can't have you waste your entire fertile years trapped in marriage to me. I'm sure you'll find someone else. I don't think I will, but that's hardly your problem.”

Elisif did lose it then, bursting into tears as she realised she couldn't give up or walk away, she still loved the old bastard, and damned if Ulfric was having this posthumous victory.

“Cariad? Elisif no, don't... oh no, don't cry, Mara's mercy, don't cry.” He'd dragged his chair over, taking her hands in his, staring helplessly at her. He'd never really coped well with tears.

“That's not why I came here!” Elisif cried, drying her eyes and finally looking at him properly, and sweet breath of Kyne, he looked awful. Pale, too thin, bloodshot eyes, dark circles – he'd really not been looking after himself.

“No?” Madanach asked, confused and by the Eight, he was adorable when he looked like that. Elisif shook her head. She wasn't sure what she'd been hoping to get from this, but she'd known they needed to talk. Ever since Styrr had confirmed it last week.

“No,” Elisif whispered. “Because... because I needed to talk to you and I couldn't not tell you, it's not something I could keep quiet and you deserve to know.”

“Deserve to know what?” Madanach asked, worry creeping in. “Elisif? What's going on?”

“I'm pregnant,” Elisif gasped, feeling the truth hit home as she finally admitted it out loud. So far Styrr knew and Uaile and Saerlund, but no one else. She'd only known for sure for a few days but she'd suspected since getting back to Solitude and idly thinking shouldn't she have bled by now... and then started to quietly panic.

Madanach hadn't reacted, other than blinking and shaking his head a little, still confused.

“But how... I mean, how long... are you sure?”

“About two months. Nearly three. I think,” Elisif said, wishing he'd do something, say something, anything. “Madanach, I – I'm scared, I don't know what I'm doing, I'm all on my own in Solitude, Uaile's helping but she doesn't know anything about babies either, I was hoping you'd help...”

Madanach was nodding, still looking adorably dazed.

“You're really pregnant,” he whispered. Elisif nodded, biting her lip and feeling tears on her cheeks again, and then a smile as she saw Madanach's face light up. Then he kissed her hand, squeezing it and rubbing her fingers, finally looking like his old self – no, not like his old self. Years younger, happier and more innocent than she'd ever seen him, actually crying. 

“I'm gonna be a father. Again!” he gasped. Elisif nodded, not sure where they went from here but he was pleased, delighted in fact. That was something, right? 

“You don't have to take me back as a wife, not properly, but... could we spend time together?” Elisif asked hesitantly. “Just enough so that our baby knows it's loved?”

“Anything you want, cariad,” Madanach whispered. “Anything at all. I swear, I will take care of you and our child and... and I'll take the potions, get into the Skooma programme properly, see a mind-healer, I swear it. I scared you, hurt you, and I think the cravings were making it worse, but I promise I will get help, I swear I'll be a better husband, I promise.”

“And I'll never use the Thu'um on you again, I promise,” Elisif said quietly. “I'm sorry I called you a monster, you're not, are you? You just missed your son, didn't you?”

Madanach nodded. 

“How is he?” Elisif felt obliged to ask. Uaile had told her about Briarhearts, that they usually came back different, focused on the fight and little else, with little of their former personalities. She'd been concerned Madanach had gone to all that trouble only to be left with a stranger with his son's face. Elisif hadn't known Argis that well, only met him a couple of times, but he'd seemed really nice. The man who'd almost killed her for harming his father hadn't seemed like the same person.

“He's all right,” Madanach said, smile flickering on his lips. “He's doing well. Even got himself a girlfriend. He's running one of our camps now. And he's happy. I can sense him, you know, we're connected now, I could tell if he wasn't, I think. Just as he can tell when I'm not happy.” Madanach paused and lowered his eyes. “He's been worrying non-stop since... you know. Angry at you. But that's mostly because I was hurting because of you. He'd never... he wouldn't hurt you. I've told him, ordered him not to, not ever. He's agreed. He's not fond of you, but he's agreed.”

It was as much as Elisif could hope for. She didn't want to stop Madanach being with his son, but all the same, it'd be a while before she'd let herself be alone with Argis.

“Thank you,” she said, stroking his cheek. “Is it all right if I stay here tonight? You've got a spare room, right, I don't mind sharing with Uaile?”

Hesitation and then Madanach clutched her hand and spoke again.

“You don't have to have a spare room if you don't want. You can share my bed. You can always share my bed. We don't have to do anything if you'd rather not, and you can say no if you like to the whole thing until you're ready... but I've missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Elisif breathed, hardly daring to believe she might still have a marriage after all this but realising she'd forgiven Madanach at least. So she leaned forward, hand cupping his cheek and kissed him, gently but firmly, intending to break off and just leave it at that but he'd only gone and moaned and opened his mouth beneath hers and then they were clinging on to each other and kissing for all they were worth and Elisif could cry. It might just work out. Sure, his children probably hated her now, and Akatosh only knew what his people thought, and it wasn't going to be easy dealing with the addiction and the baby, but she didn't care. She had her husband back and he still loved her. And she still loved him, loving him all the more for finally seeing him honest and vulnerable.

Maybe this might just work out after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

There hadn't been a lot of noise audible through the study door. Just muffled words, the sound of fire magic, but that was probably just Madanach putting the kettle on, then quiet conversation, too muffled to hear anything... until a woman started sobbing quietly.

“Good, so she should,” Kaie muttered darkly, until Eola and Uaile hushed her in unison. Cicero, knowing when to shut up, just stood back awkwardly.

Then nothing for a while and then something that was unmistakeably a woman's cry of pleasure. Kaie groaned in despair, throwing up her hands.

“I bloody knew it. He's taken her back, hasn't he,” Kaie sighed. “One flash of cleavage and he's right back in her hands. Knew it. Gods, he's so shallow.”

“Kaie!” Eola cried. “He's happy. Can't you be pleased for him?”

“Cicero is very pleased to hear the Reach-King enjoying himself,” Cicero said cheerfully before realising that could be misconstrued and hastily sidling up to Eola, beaming at her. “It means his marriage is safe, doesn't it my lovely?”

“Means you're a little perv, is what it means,” Eola said firmly, and then she heard the sound of footsteps and a woman's giggling, and the door opened.

Elisif was first, crown off, hair mussed, make-up off, skin flushed but smiling, and then Madanach behind her, hair likewise in need of brushing but his eyes were bright and he too was grinning... at least until he saw two of his children and Cicero standing there.

“We have eavesdroppers,” Madanach growled, protective arm around Elisif's waist. “What exactly do you lot want, as if I can't guess?”

“You've got back together, haven't you?” Kaie said, glaring as she faced off against her father. “As if nothing happened.”

Madanach's eyes narrowed as he glared right back at Kaie.

“Elisif and I have talked and I am sure we will be doing more of that in the days to come, but we've established we were both at fault that day, and will be treating each other better in future,” Madanach said firmly. “So seeing as we've missed each other, we've agreed to try and fix things. I trust that won't be a problem.”

“She Shouted you into a wall!” Kaie cried. “You were _unconscious!_ Concussion, and you were lucky to escape permanent injury, the healers said.”

Elisif gave a little terrified whimper, turning to look at Madanach in horror. “You never said...!” she gasped.

“It doesn't matter,” Madanach said gruffly, looking a little bit embarrassed. “It happens.”

Elisif shook her head and snuggled in closer to Madanach, tears in her eyes.

“It does matter and it shouldn't happen,” she whispered. “It won't happen again.”

“You were scared. I was hurting you. That shouldn't happen either... and it won't,” Madanach murmured.

“Spare me,” Kaie muttered, only to be soundly hushed by Eola and Uaile, who were both watching with identical soppy smiles, along with Cicero who was practically cooing.

“Well, now you're enrolling in the Skooma programme properly, it'll be easier,” Elisif said quietly. “And speaking of which...” She kissed Madanach on the cheek and turned to Kaie, having the grace to look apologetic at least.

“Kaie, I'm so sorry,” Elisif said. “I didn't mean to hurt him, I swear. It won't happen again. I promise I'll do better in future, and look after him. I know he needs it.”

“I do not need looking after!” Madanach protested. Elisif just rolled her eyes and ignored him, keeping her eyes on Kaie. The Crown Princess of the Reach still looked suspicious, but she was at least listening.

“You'd better,” Kaie snorted. “I don't really want to find him passed out on Skooma with my brother freaking out at me again. That was not fun.”

“You poor thing,” Elisif said softly. “Well, don't worry, he told me everything, and I'm going to do all I can to keep him clean, both here and in Solitude. I just have one question. Did you search the pool in his room? He had a cache of Skooma in a chest there, I don't know if you found it or not...”

From the hiss Madanach gave and the way he was gritting his teeth, the answer to that was clearly no, and the slow expression of outrage on Kaie's face confirmed it.

“No. We did not,” Kaie said, glaring at her father. “That is very interesting to know. Thank you.” She nodded at Elisif, still not exactly friendly but definitely rather more respectful. “All right, Brenhina. I'll give you another chance. Help keep my father off the Skooma and you can consider yourself forgiven. This time.” 

“Thank you,” Elisif said, relieved, as Kaie ran off shouting for some members of the ReachGuard to come and help her, they had a pool to dredge. Smiling, she turned to Eola. “And you might be interested to know that Madanach was getting his Skooma in Solitude. His dealer's an Argonian called Jaree-Ra, usually hangs out near the market although Trader's Gate was where they used to meet. He's got a sister called Deeja, usually hangs out on the docks. I need someone to infiltrate their operation, find out if they're really dealing Skooma, and if they are, or if they're doing something else illegal, deal with the problem. I'm sure I could authorise a monetary reward if this were to happen.”

Eola's eyes had widened, predatory smile appearing on her face, and Cicero looked delighted.

“We'll be sure to look into that for you, Elisif,” Eola promised. “I think Argis in particular would be very interested in that job. I'll talk to him tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Elisif said, beaming. “Now, Uaile, can you get me some time with Nepos tomorrow? I've got to write to Saerlund, get him to send the rest of my stuff seeing as I'm going to be here for the next couple of weeks. And I also need to get him to make sure the kitchen's moon sugar free by the time we get back, and that all the Palace's supply is locked up with Sybille's stores. And then I suppose we need to get some laws passed on proper food and potions labelling. Which means I'll need Nepos to show me the Reach's laws on that. And I'll need increased guard patrols on the docks and by the gate.”

“Will do, Brenhina,” Uaile said calmly. “Only I recommend leaving the guard patrols until Eola reports back they've sorted your dealer problem. Give her space to work, you know?”

“Oh! I – yes, I suppose I should, shouldn't I?” Elisif said sheepishly, as Eola gave her a grateful smile and Cicero bounced up and down enthusiastically, exclaiming how he worked much better without guards breathing down his neck and not to worry, he and pretty Eola would investigate the clearly up to something Argonians for sweet Elisif.

“Am I allowed any say in my own personal life?” Madanach sighed, eyes rolling. “And that information was in confidence!”

“Confidence?” Elisif said witheringly. “You reported illegal activity in Solitude _to the Jarl,_ what exactly did you expect to happen? And you're not keeping a Skooma cache in our bedroom either. If you're serious about staying clean, you won't need it any more anyway, will you?”

Madanach muttered something about interfering Nordic minxes, but that didn't seem to prevent him putting an arm round Elisif and pulling her to him, roughly kissing her cheek, and the sight of Madanach scowling as deeply as he was capable of while at the same time snuggling Elisif like a child would their favourite toy was, there was no other word for it, adorable.

Kaie arrived from the royal bedchamber, two Forsworn manhandling a dripping wet chest behind her, and she shook her head at Madanach as she passed.

“I am so disappointed in you, Da,” was all she said as she walked past, nodding respectfully to Elisif. “Don't think I won't have the ReachGuard checking on a daily basis either.”

“I should never have put her in charge of them,” Madanach sighed. “It's gone to her head. She's turning into her mother.”

“She's nothing like Ma,” Eola retorted. “I actually don't mind Kaie these days.”

“You're not a lot better,” Madanach growled. “Don't you have a jester to entertain? I'm sure you two have a lot to catch up about.”

If by catch up, he meant 'have wild kinky sex', he wasn't far wrong, but Eola wasn't going to ask for clarification. She grabbed Cicero's hand and started to lead him off.

“Oh, and Eola,” Madanach called. “We're having a family dinner tomorrow night. You and Cicero should be there. And Delphine and Argis – don't worry about heading all the way out to Karthspire, I just sent the invite to him. I know Kaie's not going anywhere either.”

That ability to commune with Argis was really getting a bit creepy, but Eola smiled anyway. It was good to see her father happy... and having a brother was also kind of nice.

“We'll be there,” Eola promised, leading Cicero off to her room, Uaile also making her excuses and saying goodnight to Elisif. And within minutes of her bedroom door closing, Eola found herself shoved up against a wall with Cicero's hands finding their way into her robes as he whispered she had no right to look so pretty in those robes and she'd been tormenting him all evening, the artful little hussy. 

“Have I been a bad girl?” Eola gasped as Cicero's fingers slid into her underwear. “Going to punish me?”

“Yes,” Cicero breathed. “Cicero is going to keep doing this until you come, but the number of seconds that takes is the number of times he's going to spank you afterwards.” 

“That's not – oh gods – fair!” Eola cried as Cicero began to finger her, grinning knowingly.

“Cicero likes this game,” Cicero purred. “Watching Eola try to work out what she wants more, this or a good hiding. Cicero shall have to remember this one!”

“You bastard,” Eola whispered, closing her eyes, but inside, marvellously twisted and cheerfully sadistic Cicero back in her bed was just what she'd needed. Holding on to him, she let him pleasure her, deliberately holding off orgasm. She'd always liked it rough.

Meanwhile in the Keep's master bedroom, King and Queen were holding each other, neither moving or speaking or knowing what to say, only that they needed each other and loved each other still. Then without a word, Madanach broke off and led Elisif to their bed, lying down on it and silently reaching out to her, taking her into his arms and just holding her. 

“Did you want to...?” Elisif whispered and Madanach paused before kissing her jawline.

“Only if you want to,” he murmured. “And... I want you on top. You in charge. I know it's usually been the other way round but... I can't... I think I need you to look after me for once.” He pulled her closer to nuzzle her ear. “More than once, if you're willing.”

“You'd still trust me that much? After all this?” Elisif gasped, surprised and feeling tears welling up again. Madanach nodded.

“Yes. With my life. You're not – you're not dangerous. Well, not out of control anyway. You were scared... because I scared you. So take charge and then you won't be scared.”

“That makes no sense whatsoever,” Elisif whispered back. “You are actually crazy, aren't you?”

Soft laughter from Madanach. “Perhaps. But don't tell me no one warned you about that?”

Elisif had to admit she'd heard nothing but warnings from the day she'd announced their engagement. More laughter from Madanach as he kissed her lips once.

“And you married me anyway. Now who's the crazy one?” He trailed his fingers through her hair, smile fading. “Cariad. Tell me I can't have Skooma.”

“What?” Elisif said, confused. Madanach placed a finger to her lips, stopping the questioning.

“Just do it. Tell me I'm not to have it.”

Her husband was clearly crazy, but if it was what he wanted... “A-all right. You can't have Skooma any more or...”

Madanach was shaking his head. “No. Not like that. Don't say you'll punish me. Just tell me I'm not to have it. Make it sound like your word is law. As if it's inconceivable anyone would ever disobey you, least of all me.”

Elisif had a feeling that teasing the former King in Rags about secretly wanting a Nord to tell him what to do after all would utterly ruin the moment and possibly more than the moment. So she climbed on top of him, kissed his cheek, then his neck, before looking up and staring right into his eyes.

“You are not to take Skooma,” she told him. “You are my husband and my husband does not take Skooma. You will put our marriage first.”

Shallow gasp from Madanach as he nodded breathlessly. “Yes,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “Yes, I'm yours.”

Elisif hadn't realised that would sound as arousing as it did. It frightened her a little... but there was something rather appealing about Madanach writhing under her begging for more for a change. Even if it was a little worrying realising he was so fragile underneath it all.

“When did you get so needy?” Elisif whispered. “You were never like this before.”

The answer surprised – no, shocked her.

“I was always like this before, cariad,” Madanach said quietly. “I was just afraid to show anyone. Was afraid you wouldn't want me if you knew.”

Elisif tried to speak but just choked instead, realising she was crying again, and he was watching her, contrite and guilty and oh Mara, no, he needed to stop looking like that, it'd break her heart. So she kissed him instead, and that was better, she liked those noises he was making, he should definitely do more of that.

“Don't keep these things from me again,” she finally told him when they both broke off for air. “You're my husband!”

“Yes,” Madanach said, smiling again, that same carefree smile she'd seen earlier when she'd told him about the baby. “Always.”

Elisif realised she could easily fall in love with that smile all over again, little realising he was thinking the exact same thing about the expression on her face right now. They didn't do anything else but kiss and hold each other that night, finally drifting off to sleep with smiles on their faces... but when they woke up the next day and both realised they weren't alone, the resulting joyful kissing led to rather more.

Meanwhile, over in Sky Haven Temple, Delphine was getting ready for bed when she heard footsteps running up the corridor – and the Shrouded Boots of the Brotherhood would have soaked the sound up.

“Esbern or Argis?” she called, surprised to hear either bothering her at this time of night. She hoped it wasn't Esbern coming to tell her he'd translated some obscure text that predicted the second return of Alduin or something.

“Argis,” she heard him say, sounding a little out of breath – it had been a surprise to realise Briarhearts still breathed but given the whole concept obeyed no law of nature Delphine knew, she'd decided to give up being surprised at any of it. “Can I come in, Matriarch?”

“I suppose,” Delphine said, pulling on her robe. “What is it? Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Argis said as he slipped into the room, clad in Forsworn kilt and boots but not a lot else, Briarheart on show. Still gave Delphine the creeps a bit, but each to their own. Argis seemed ecstatic about something. “It's Da. He's... he's happy.”

“Happy?” Delphine asked. “What do you mean?” Skooma was about the only thing that made Madanach happy these days, but Argis wouldn't be looking so pleased about that.

“Elisif came back,” Argis said, a little wary as he said her name, but not the rage it had brought out in those first few days after the Incident. “And they're getting back together, and he just feels... so different. So happy, like you wouldn't believe he could be. I think... I think he's gonna be OK.”

“That's marvellous news,” Delphine said, knowing she'd need to see this for herself before she could finally relax, but Elisif reconciled with him? A good thing indeed. Madanach liked to claim he was a vicious, hardened man to be feared, and maybe he was, but when it came to Elisif, Delphine had seen the truth in his eyes. He adored, doted on and loved his young wife, and Elisif had looked happy with him too. Thank Talos they'd sorted it out.

“Isn't it?” Argis said, grinning. “Still not entirely sure I trust her again yet – but she's alright, I think. He swears he's kicking Skooma for good this time, and it's because of her.”

“So you don't need to kill her then, do you,” Delphine said, hoping to avoid a repeat of Argis on the verge of ripping Elisif's head off. Thankfully, Argis shook his head.

“No, Matriarch. If it means I don't find him passed out on Skooma again...” Argis shivered, and Delphine remembered seeing him the day after it had happened, devastated and frightened and clinging on to Eola whispering how sorry he was while Eola had slowly gone into a terrified panic herself.

“Here's hoping not,” Delphine said quietly, remembering the heartbroken frantic stare Madanach had given her as he pleaded with her to get Elisif back for him, and while she didn't want to get crude or anything, Elisif had leverage over the Reach-King no one else had.

These things were never easy to fix. But Delphine found she had faith in them both. She glanced over at Miraak's skull, still sitting on the dresser, awaiting conversion into a replacement shrine for the Night Mother's crypt, the Karthspire one having been delivered to the Re-Opened Temple to replace the one the cultists had destroyed. Miraak's malice had delivered a blow to the Brotherhood, but by the grace of Sithis, they had survived this time. Maybe their patron had suffered. Maybe their Keeper had suffered, and their Windhelm Speaker too. But they were here and alive and still going strong. All was going to be well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! And everyone is going to be all right. Until I write the next one anyway, which will probably be the Dawnguard DLC, will probably take a lot less time to write and about which I am cackling already. Probable title will be Coldharbour's Children. But it may be a while and I do have Wolf Queen Awakens and another fic on the go, so maybe I'll work on those first. We'll see.
> 
> Thank you for reading, it's been a pleasure.


End file.
